Lamborghini or Medical School? Which Would You Rather?

Do you ever have that thought you should do something in particular but then you rationalize it away because it would be more convenient if you didn’t?

I often have an inner debate about whether or not to take my camera everywhere we go.

I love it.

Probably too much.

Because I love photographing.

When I take it anywhere, I’m working, not necessarily relaxing with my family.

But, if I don’t bring it, I get very, very frustrated that it’s not with me.

This is the problem: I feel compelled to shoot.  I want to shoot.  But sometimes, I really want to relax and enjoy time with my family without lugging an eight pound camera, tripod, light meter, and camera bag.

But I can’t turn off the inner creativity in my head.  It’s always wanting to photograph.

The other night, I decided not to take the camera with us to the park.

David countered, and sent me back in for it.

This is flashy car was the first thing we saw as we pulled into the parking lot:

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I knew David made the right call!  My heart started to race.  It actually fluttered.  Not because I’m a car enthusiast, but because I’ve never seen a Lamborghini up close.

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I’ve only admired them through the showroom glass windows from Exotic Imports off I-15 in Salt Lake City.

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The owner of this car was so surprised at how many pictures I took, he came over and  introduced himself,.

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Then he turned the car on so I could see it with the doors open and the back flaps up.

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David has seen this Lamborghini on the freeway before and he tried to snap a picture with his phone.

He was positive it was this exact one.

It’s a pretty distinct car.

Flashy I’d say.

Nice owner.

I wonder what he does.

Maybe he’d be willing to pay off our medical school loans?

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Because the price tag on this car is even more than paying for medical school.

Nice thought, huh?

Two Different Worlds

My husband is a busy guy.  He’s gone a lot helping people that have special needs.  Needs like “cut off my leg” or “cut out the cancer in my arm.”

Not regular needs if you catch my drift.

He works long hours, and never has a chance to eat.

Ever.

(Okay, well, sometimes he has five seconds here or there to eat something so I may have exaggerated a bit.)  He comes home starving after a long day in surgery with the most interesting stories.  Stories that make me gasp, (WHAT? YOU CUT OFF A GUYS LEG?) cover my mouth, (YOU CUT OUT A GROWTH HOW BIG?) and sometimes make me throw up a little bit in my mouth (YOU GIVE SHOTS IN THE KNEES?  EWE!).

He leaves early in the morning before the kids get up, (those of you who have kids know this is early because kids rise and shine early) and often returns home after they’ve gone to bed.

We miss him and love to share what little time he has.

After a “normal” day for him, (a day that would make most of us have post traumatic stress) he comes home to watch Hannah jump her little heart out, chat it up with the neighbors, and watch Paris run around the backyard.

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(Hannah was jumping with all her might screaming, “Mommy!  I’m jumping CRAZY!”  She was so satisfied.)

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(look at her tongue that is too big for her mouth!)

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He even carves out a little time to shoot the breeze with me while watching our dog sleep.

I’m so glad he’s not going into surgery.

Killer hours.

Killer diet.

Killer for the family.

“Indoctrinated”

Hannah: “Mommy, do you have a sternal notch?”

Me: “What?”  (think, think, think!  What is she talking about?  I have a sternum, I think.)

Hannah: “Mine’s right here!”  (pointing to a spot on her neck)

Me: “Oh! You do!  That’s great!”  (what the heck is a sternal notch and why does she care?)

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Because her dad and his doctor friends “indoctrinate” her as much as they can.

Some “indoctrination” overheard this week:

  • I have a contusion on my patella.  (a what on your what?  Kid, speak ENGLISH.)
  • Don’t touch my cut.  Leave it alone.  It needs to heal.
  • My scab is a band-aid for my sore.  (Uh, yeah, I guess so.  I’ve never thought of it like that . . .)

She’s teaching me a thing or two.

Hannah Newsletter #11

Dear Hannah,

You are now 32 months old.  You and your cousin, Malaya, made some big changes this month.  You both moved from Utah to different states.  Malaya moved to hip happenin’ Las Vegas, Nevada, and you ended up smack dab in the middle of the United States in a state called KANSAS.

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(Malaya and Hannah, both two and a half years old)

People are very friendly here.  Why do I know this?  Because you introduce yourself to anyone and everyone within earshot of your voice.  If they’re not in earshot, you just use your VERY LOUD outside voice to chat with them.  You always introduce yourself saying, “Hi, I’m Hannah.  This is my mommy, Emily. This is Dallin boy.  He’s just a baby.  This is Paris.  She is my dog. She is a stinker-dog.  My daddy is a real doctor for me.  What’s your name?”  I love how you emphasize that your daddy is a real doctor “for you.”  It implies that you understand much more than I think you do.  For the record, your dad is a third year medical student.  He is  “real doctor” in training.  He certainly knows a lot, but cannot write out prescriptions yet.  He most certainly is a real doctor, even if only for you.

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You are one chatty little girl, and every morning, you wake up announcing very loudly, “THE SUN IS AWAKE!  THE SUN IS AWAKE!  DID YOU SEE MOMMY!  OUT MY WINDOW!  DO YOU WANT TO PLAY A GAME NOW?”

That is my cue to come into your room and get you.  Notice how I said come into your room and get you? That’s because somehow, you figured out about that invisible fence around your bed and if you get off without our permission, or without us watching you, you’ll get shocked.  Just like those invisible dog fences.  We haven’t told you otherwise, so for the past six months (since you started sleeping in a big girl bed) you have been calling out to us to retrieve you from your slumber.

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Did I already mention you talk from sun up to sun down?  Because you do.  You can thank me for your chatty ways and your dad for your very articulate speech.  He works with you on every word till you say it just right.

There are just a couple of words that have slipped through your speech lessons, and I love to hear you say them:

Nop:  really is the word MOP, but you are convinced that we are up in the night when we correct you.

Ekersize:  is the word, EXERCISE.  I love this word from you.  I hope you always say it.

Some of my favorite phrases are:

  • “I’m having a little trouble mommy.”
  • “Is this very cool?”
  • “Daddy is a real doctor, for me.”
  • “He doesn’t want to play with my toys!”  (More like YOU don’t want Dallin to play with your toys.)
  • “I’m okay right now.”
  • “My diaper is bothering me.”  (It bothers me too.  When do you want to use the potty?!”)
  • “I don’t want to use the big girl potty.  I just want to be a baby still.”
  • “Mommy!  You’re doing an excellent job!”  (This compliment was given when I was painting a picture frame white.)
  • “Drive slower like daddy does!”  (This is a personal favorite.)
  • “Mommy, am I sick?”  (You ask this every time you drink Sprite.)
  • “I yawned.  My body is tired.  I think I need to take a nap so my body feels better.”  (Direct parroting from your dad.  He loves to explain everything to you.)

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I have a superpower of being able to lose copious amount of hair daily, and regrow the same amount every day.  Instead of just letting hundreds of hair strands drop to the bottom of the shower to clog the drain, (which, from personal experience, only takes one shower with my head of hair) I strategically place the lost strands on the shower wall, which is where they stay until I get out of the shower and dry off.  Any time you come it to my bathroom to chit chat it up with me while I get ready you point out and exclaim in shear horror, “MOMMY!  IT’S THE HAIRY BEAST!  DAD’S NOT GOING TO LIKE IT!”  I will admit, it does look like the loch-ness monster has invaded the shower and splat itself on the wall.  Way to look out for your dad.

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At church this last Sunday, you were brought to me from nursery because you were, well . . . STINKY.  As you entered the room full of women (in the Mormon church, we have three hours of service.  The last hour the men and women meet separately. The women’s meeting is called Relief Society,) you announced to me in your very loud voice, “Mommy!  I have a stinky!  Mommy!  Change my poopie!  I want to go back to nursery!  I don’t want to stay in here with you!  I want to get a flower at nursery!  Mommy!  I don’t want my bum bum to hurt!  Can you change my diaper!  It’s bothering me!”

Ladies were snickering and quietly giggling.  And as we left that room together with you still explaining your dire diaper situation, I’m sure someone in that room was thinking, “Man, why isn’t that kid potty trained?”

Even if that someone was me.

The answer?  Because you don’t want to be.

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You are a delight.  I love how friendly and welcoming you are to everyone.  You love your brother so much.  You always want to hold his hand when we sit down and read books together.  He doesn’t really like his hand being tied down like that, but that doesn’t stop you.

We have introduced “time-outs” in the last few months.  It works for you.  And you know what works for me?  When you think I’ve done something out of line and you very authoritatively tell me, “Mommy, you need a time out.  You need to think about it.”

Gladly.

I’ll take one of those.  Maybe two.

Love,

Mommy

Wanna Surprise Me?

A few days ago, my friend Ang dropped in for a surprise visit.  Why was it a surprise you ask? Because she lives in DC and flew out on short notice to see me to see her family.  I LOVE her to pieces.  When I was living in Texas and she was living in Utah, I would fly her to Texas to work in my bridal store on key weekends.

She kicks butt as a saleswoman.  She could sell a straight man a wedding dress.  And he would buy it and feel good about it.  Like he needed it.  She made a lot of money for my store.  But, that’s not why I LOVE her.

We bonded while working crazy hours, selling dresses to crazy bridezillas.

Her husband started dental school (in DC)  the same time my husband started medical school.

We bonded again over our crazy lives.

Now, her husband will graduate in May, and my husband has like 23 more years to go before he makes an income as a doctor.

I am like 80% happy for her and 20% jealous.

But, I LOVE her to pieces, so how could I really be jealous?

She carved time out of her four day trip to see me and I loved it. She brought her baby who is just eight weeks old with her.

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I got lost in his blue, blue eyes.

He was ADORABLE.

I wanted to eat him up.

Kiss his face off.

Keep him for my very own.

She has two other kids, would she really miss this little one? 🙂

Loving Our Main Man

Did I mention my husband came home?  Because he did!

Hannah is pleasantly surprised every morning when she sees her daddy.  She often greets him with the phrase, “My daddy came home!” or “I LOVE MY DADDY!” which happens to be David’s favorite sentence.

Dallin was positive he had never seen David in his life and all the lovin’ David tried to give him was received with a quivering lip from a very loyal-to-his-mother-five-month-old.  They’re friends now, but I’m still Dallin’s favorite person and best friend. 🙂  (That’s what happens when you are your child’s food source, comforter, and sleeping buddy.)

We’ve wasted no time since his return.  Yesterday, we started potty training Hannah (she’s been running around the house in Dora the “Explore Her” panties) and sleep training Dallin (because I need my life back).  Ambitious?  Probably.  But we truly know our lives will be a thousand percent easier when these things happen.  David also found time to make a sweet potato pie, attend a Christmas party, set up a pediatric rotation, and buy fleece for our dog Paris.  (Paris desperately needs a coat and because of the way Whippets are shaped, all coats have to be custom made.  When I was looking at a site to order her a coat, David saw the design and decided he would rather save the money and make it himself.  David has mad sewing and pattern making skills which I am NOT allowed to talk about.  Just know that Paris will be stylin’ and warm in her new coat.)

David noted some changes since his return:

Hannah talks in paragraphs.  She will say any word you give her (including medical terminology like Pseudostratified ciliated columnar epithelium) and says very funny phrases.

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Dallin no longer cries like he used to.  He is big, tough, and strong.  The kid starts out every morning with 50 push ups.  He gives smiles away for free, giggles, and CRAWLS.  Yes, you read that right.  David was very surprised to see his five months and five day old son, CRAWL away from him.  He moves at a tortoise pace, but he moves.

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David noticed my jeans fitting a little looser and commented on my minor weight loss.  The diet plan I used was called “very-stressed-out-single-parenting-of-two-very-sick-kids.”  Paris is also a little thinner.  Since Kyaha died, she doesn’t have another food bowl to sneak food from.  Before we know it, Paris might look like an actual race Whippet again!

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The one thing that hasn’t changed is how much we love our main man.  He swore he would never leave again for that long.  I’m holding him to it.

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