Mama Nay, I need a word with you...

Warning:  Men, you might not want to continue reading. We are about to venture into the land of ladyparts and TMI. On the other hand, if you have women in your life of a certain age, you might wanna read on and get some insight.

Hey, Mother Nature.... can I call you, Mama Nay? 'Kay, thanks... it's Amy, remember me? No? Well, you oughta, you been clownin' me pretty hard for the last six or eight months, now. Not ringin' any bells yet? Well, lemme elaborate for you.


First of all, for 31 years of my life, you have made sure that I have a week and a half of discomfort and inconvenience. I know, you do that to the vast majority of women, it's part of the package. It's this new bullsnit you're on these days that really has me kinda aggy... the whole hot flash, moodswing, complexion chaos, inability to focus, emotional bullsnit.

This snit, this snit right here? No predictability, no rhyme or reason... at any random, inconvenient time at all any one, or combination, of these new pleasantries will smack me out of the clear blue. The hot flashes, while annoying, are at least easily recognizable. While the mood swings, irrationality, and ADD stuff isn't apparent until I look back and realize I just made an ass out of myself for no good reason. And it's not like little over reactions... it can't be that easy. It's  major blow ups over nothing, NOTHING, I tell ya!! 


Major over reactions like this:



Ok, so I have yet to destroy anyone's vehicle, but it could so totally happen!!


And here's the kicker... the other stuff, the usual monthly torment?? Still happening. And worse than ever!! Crampier, moodier, bloatier, heavier than ever before!!


What did I ever do to you? I ain't mess with your man, show up to a party wearing the same dress as you, or question your character, never, not ever!! I ain't did snit to you for you to be such a ragin' beyotch!


So what, I'm sayin' to you Nay, is you on some real shady business right here... and I'm 'bout tired of it. You need to decide which form of torment you like the best and stick to it.

Mama Nay, bish, you play too much.

Old people should not be given certain stuff....

Ok, this post will not mean a dang thing to a bunch of y'all. However, let me hear my nurses rep!

There are certain medications that older folks should not be given. Ever. At all. Period. The top two on that list... a sleeper that starts with "A" and a nausea med that starts with "Ph." (Shoot, you dang right I'm bein' cautious.... I don't want those pharmaceutical companies coming after me coz I named their brand...).

Anyway.... here's how it goes. You get a perfectly sensible and sane senior citizen on your medical floor. The doctor prescribes something to help them sleep. The sane and sensible senior swallows the pill with nary a thought. They drop off to sleep. 90 minutes later, sane and sensible has gone out the window! Mr. Senior is now crazy as the proverbial outhouse rat, wide awake and ready to make sure you lose what's left of YOUR mind trying to make sure that he doesn't break a hip climbing over a bedrail....

Not only that, but Mr. Sane Senior (now known as the confused man in 277) has become convinced that he is being held against his will somewhere, though he's not sure where, for some reason, though he's not sure why. One thing he is absolutely certain of is this: YOU ARE THE CULPRIT!! YOU are the enemy... and Lawd help you if he was ever anywhere near Korea in the 50's or VietNam in the 60's, because then, you MUST be a.) the commandant of a POW camp or 2.) a member of the interrogation squad come to torture him.

As an added bonus, Mr. Senior has seemingly lost the ability to keep his clothes anywhere near his body, much less ON his body. IV's will be pulled out. There will be multiple changes of bed linen, and the rest of your patients will be "back burnered" as you attempt to keep Mr. Senior from running his wrinkled hiney up and down the hall boo-booty-ass-nekkid.

Somehow, the nightshift will survive... though how is equal parts miracle and mystery. Come 0700, they will be meeting the dayshift at the daggone door, lookin' like they just went 12 rounds with Muhammed Ali in his prime. Hair every which way, clothes rumpled, dark circles under the eyes, faces pasty and pale. "YOUR TURN!" they cry, as they bolt for their cars.

And do you think it stops? Only NO!! The madness continues unabated. Only now, physical therapy is trying to get in for treatment, the family has arrived and there are food trays to be thrown and played in!! Mrs. Sane Senior shakes her snowy head, and with a perplexed look on her face protests, "I don't understand? This is just so unlike him!!"

Yea, sweetie, I know. That's because it's not him.... it's that nasty little blue pill we gave him at 2100 last night.

And that, my random friends is why old folks and sleeping pills don't mix!

*this is in no way to be interpreted as a single patient event, but a composite of nursing experience*

(o_O I had to side-eye myself for that last statement)

What's goin on people?

Casa AmyMay

Hey, everybody! It's been a little while since I posted, and other than work, I really don't have a good excuse. So sue me.

However, as I Tweet on Twitter, Fraternize on Facebook and Bombard on Blip, I find myself with "Blog Guilt." I feel I have neglected my poor little sliver of the internet world. I'm a bad mama. Still, Blog Guilt and all, I'm struggling with finding a topic. So, work with me, people. I'm not promising genius here, just a post.

Okay, my chosen topic....

The bathroom... or why I haven't finished a single project in this house for four years.

First, some back story...

My mom was really, really sick for the last years of her life. When she was at the point of needing a lung transplant, I was pregnant with my son, and about to be a single mom. At that time, my parents and I decided it would be mutually beneficial for me to move in with them. I was able to be there to care for Mom during her final illness, and she was able to have the peace of mind knowing I wasn't raising her grandson in Mt. Vernon. Well, my son was just over a year old when Mom died.

That's when I inherited my father.

Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, but he makes me nuts! My mother was a much better woman than I will ever be. She put up with a lot, and I'm sure prevented many a disaster in her day by simply putting her foot down!

So what has this got to do with the bathroom, you ask?

Well, once I inherited Dad, I couldn't very well leave him all alone and pitiful. So when I decided to start saving for a house, it was with the understanding that Dad was coming too. And Dad has poor impulse control, so when one of the women at our church was talking about putting her house up for sale, I found myself signing papers before I really knew what hit me. I love my house. It's a nice house in a nice neighborhood in a nice town in a nice cornfield. But it's an older house, and as such, needs work from time to time. Like now, it needs either painted or siding... one or the other.

However.... I can't even let myself entertain the thought because of THE BATHROOM!!

The bathroom on the main floor is just the latest in the long line of stuff that has gotten started and never quite finished. Like the living room... new insulation, drywall and paint, but no baseboards, window/door trim or light fixture. Or the basement family room.... half tiled, half bare concrete. Or the pile of bricks by the driveway which have yet to turn into a walk way....

Poor impulse control. To use a golf analogy, Dad's great off the tee, but his short game sux.

That said, I shouldn't have fallen for the next proposition:

"Amy, if you peel that ugly ass wall paper in the bathroom, I'll sand the walls smooth enough to prime and paint."

But I did. And today, after 6 months of waiting, I realize....

If you want it done (regardless of right or wrong) do it yourself.

Zach and Cody have rotted my brain....

As the title of this post implies, I have been subjected to way too much Disney Channel lately.  My wonderful 6yr old son has somehow come to the conclusion that Zach and Cody are the penultimate in all things cool.  I beg to differ, but somehow my opinion is consistently disregarded in this matter.

I never intended to let the boy get too into television.  My rationale?  Having always had a weight problem myself, I didn't want the kid to be encouraged to be a couch potato.  Besides, there is precious little on TV that he would like that I can stand to watch also.  And he's a really active kid... soccer, baseball, guitar lessons, playing outside with the neighborhood kids, all of that.  But he has developed an infallible sixth sense... he feels it in his bones when Zach and Cody are on the tube.

Their hotel (now cruise ship--who lives on a cruise ship??) hijinx are as irritating to me as a splinter under a fingernail.  I have an irrational aversion to these little blonde moppets.  I can't even tell you why I have such antipathy toward these kids.  Maybe it's because you can see the plotline coming a mile away.  Maybe it's because they play the cute card until I scream for mercy.  Maybe it's because the show just plain blows.  I dunno... but I can't stand it anymore.

They make me want to pull an Elvis and shoot up the TV.