This and that

The kids went back to school. Averson and Eli are thrilled. Syd is... less so. We had her anxiety pretty dialed in but the last half of the quarantine has been tougher. She's doing okay and for her at least, I'm grateful that school is only 2 hours/ 2 days a week. Eli is back to wrestling practice and next week they're back on the mat. I have mixed feelings, but they're all getting tested weekly so I think it's as safe as it can be. And with half of the house vaccinated I feel a bit more risk tolerant. 

Literally the only picture I took of Easter and you'd never know what it was. Our baskets were ON POINT this year. New swimsuits, a new pool toy (from the "pool toys for teens" list on Amazon), a paper airplane kit, a new book, and a bunch of candy. I snuck an anime action figure into Eli's basket and he played with it all afternoon :) 

I had Cesar Chavez day off and the weather was gorgeous, so we ventured to find this bridge and tree that everyone's been posting pictures of. I did not take a picture (SMH). Then we realized that one of my favorite little pubs was across said bridge and decided to stop for lunch. Which Eli had to pay for because C and I had forgotten our wallets in the car. 

Ahh! Here's the tree! But you can't tell that it's cool from this angle. Trust me. It's cool. 

We celebrated my mom's birthday by going out to an actual restaurant! It was so fun and exactly what we all needed. We even got dressed up(ish)

Birthday donuts. She'll be so mad that I posted this picture, but I love it

There are about 700 pictures of braids on my phone because I bribe the girls with tv if they'll play with my hair. Most are kind of a mess but Syd gave me a bubble braid the other night and I really like it! Also, my hair has gotten ridiculous. 

In other, quiet announcement news, I sort of got a new job and will be leaving prison work at the end of the month. It feels SUPER weird and I'll dedicate a better post to it later. In true Corey fashion I 100% tripped into it. It's totally different from what I'm doing now (back to direct patient care!) I'm excited and nervous and also having a very hard time continuing to make my heinous commute. So more on that soon! 

 

Working from home updates

When the world started ending, I kept my 5 day a week office schedule. It was hard for me to imagine trying to be available to my team without being physically on-grounds when they were. We slowly built in a good telework schedule and so for the last few months, I've been taking a day each week. It works in nicely into our distance learning adult supervision rotation, gives C a regular day to go into the school,  and let's me work in my comfy clothes one day a week. 

Here are some tips and tricks that I've learned along the way:

When the dogs are being shits, it helps to put whichever one is being worse on a leash and tie them to me. For some reason this makes them stop wrestling, whining to go in/out constantly, and barking at the wind. 

This is NOT a good solution during video calls

And speaking of video calls. I'm back to teaching and it's WAY DIFFERENT. Rather than a 3 hour lecture course, I'm running a one hour zoom discussion meeting each week. On Mondays I run home from work, throw whatever dinner I prepped in the oven, work out, and then rush to get my zoom up and running. It only took me one week of trying to play off my workout top as professional wear to realize that I could be business on top, yoga pants on bottom. It took me one more week to invest in a ring light. If you don't have one yet, get one! Best $15 I've spent on "the new normal." Mine clips on to the woodshop stepstool that I'm using as a desk. Behold the man behind the curtain. 

Also not pictured. I have to lock the door so the kids don't interrupt class. Averson has been sliding the cutest notes under the door and it's fun to read them when I'm done (even if the answer to nearly all her questions should be "go ask your dad.") 

The kids are slated to go back to school in January, but on a modified schedule that will 100% make all of our lives significantly more complicated. I think we'll send them, but with cases on the rise and our county shutting down again, I'm not feeling super optimistic. If/when they do go back, I suspect that I'll also need to modify my schedule a bit so we can do all the driving. We'll see I guess.  
 

Crazy or Not Crazy?

This is absolutely, without a doubt, one of my favorite parts of my job. Play a little game and get a glimpse of what I actually get paid  to do. Ready? Let's do this! (Break it down!) 

The objective is to decide, Crazy or Not Crazy?

1) Anyone who describes themselves as "suicidal" or having "racing thoughts"?  Not Crazy

2) A guy who claims to "just not care" and then one sentence later, complains about the temperature of his food? Not Crazy

3) Anyone, who for any reason, eats shit? Crazy

4) Most people who can't be bothered to put on clothes? Crazy (or gross. It's a gut call)

5) The guy who adamantly denies any mental health problems? Usually Crazy. Tricky, huh?

6) A guy who says that he sees demons? Not Crazy. Bonus points if they're green, have red eyes, or have horns. Super Not Crazy. Also, bad liars and poor researchers. 

7) Anyone who smears poop on the walls? This is a tricky one. Did they make eye contact while they did it? If so, Not Crazy. If not, Crazy. 

8) The guy who says that everyone's out to get him and that they're planning to kill him? Another tricky one. In the world (aka not prison), Crazy. In prison, you need more information. Because this might be totally legit. 

9) A guy who says he talks to God? Again, a tough one. My compass says, if God says nice things, Not Crazy. If God says mean things about the guy, Crazy. If God tells guy to do bad things, usually Not Crazy. See: Bad liar.

10) Anyone who outright calls me the devil, evil, conniving, or guilty of "word fucking" (which makes me sound very talented, don't you think?) Usually Not Crazy. 

See? This is a pretty awesome job. And they get more complicated and intricate. I worked with a guy who practiced a religion based on communication with spirits. AND he heard voices. There were a lot of "Was it the spirits or the voices?" conversations. Another guy literally ate a ball of shit, while looking me straight in the eye. Probably Not Crazy, but my deal is that if you're willing to eat crap, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. That's a commitment that most people do not possess. Another guy refused to meet with anyone for several days, instead laying naked in his room reading a book. Turns out he broke his hip in four places and no one knew. Still Crazy, but maybe notsomuch. Between this and getting to say things like, "Was it a magic coochie?" I pretty much have the most awesome job ever. Except it smells, really really really bad. 

Can't knock the hustle

A co-worker and I were talking today about our job and the unique challenges we face, trying to distinguish between 1) liars, 2) crazy people, and 3) crazy people who are lying. Despite being a mental health crisis unit, the majority of the people I see are lying. In fact, right now I can think of maybe one or two that are truly sick. And one of those guys keeps jacking off and throwing his shit like a fucking monkey. The rest are lying. They're lying to hide out, or get meds, or get sent to the hospital, or because they're bored and we don't make them room together. I get it. Prison sucks. But these guys are lying for the express purpose of living next to a guy who stores feces in a milk carton and then smears it all over his room. Y'all. Cells aren't smell-proof. It's disgusting and it's the reason I bought really cheap (read: disposable) work shoes.

So we were talking about how frustrating it is, not that these guys are lying, but that they lie so badly. I mean, they're not even making an effort. I've had guys who really put some thought into it. They played the game. And I can respect that. Shit, sometimes I even admire a good manipulation because that's hard work. Especially in a place where no one trusts you to begin with. So here's my PSA.

IF: You go to prison, it's best not to owe anyone money or talk about what other people are doing. You'll save yourself a lot of trouble and probably won't have to hide.

BUT: If you do, you have two options. "PC up" and forever be known as a snitch or "Suicide up" and risk being seen as crazy

IF: You suicide up, come up with a decent back story. Do not tell me that your cousin/aunt/nephew was in an accident and you don't know what happened because you can't get a hold of anyone in your family, so you feel suicidal. This translates to "I want to try to get a cell phone from a staff and if that doesn't work I want to go to the state hospital for awhile." Also, it's the same exact story the last four guys FROM YOUR UNIT have told me.

WHEN: I call you on the fact that maybe you might be exaggerating, given that you just spent twenty minutes describing your parole plans after insisting that you would kill yourself the first chance you got, you have three options. 1) Admit defeat. 2) Up your game. or 3) Threaten to kill me or show me your penis.

CHOOSE: Option one would be a nice distraction because at that very moment a flock of pigs would fly out of my butt. Option two is always awesome. I especially appreciate when the guys are able to adapt quickly and without obviously changing the original story. "Oh, did you think I said I heard demons? No, I meant my internal, metaphorical demons..." I'd go for this option, unless upping the ante involves feces. I respect the commitment to the game, but that's disgusting. Option three is just pathetic, and will result in you getting more time and me not having to talk to you anymore. It's a win-win.

When I graduated, I had no idea that the majority of my time would be spent wading through bullshit. That I would ask a grown man what his "Boo boo" tasted like, just to gauge his level of commitment. That I would be able to listen to the eighty-millionith story about dying aunts with almost no sympathy, but have a complete emotional reaction when someone described a conspiracy involving nazis, shaking walls, and Jedi. Or that I would gain respect for a person who spent all night dancing so that the next day the staff would tell me, "It's the most bizarre thing. He danced all night long, howling at the moon." You might not be crazy, but I admire the work ethic.

Conversations with a Psychopath

There are a few different types of people that I run across in my unit. Usually they're 1) lying 2) super crazy or 3) lying and crazy. Lately though, there's been a guy who I'm about 99% sure is a true psychopath. True psychopaths are rare, and they generally don't end up in a crisis bed unit. He's sort of defaulted to my regular caseload and it is so. freaking. cool. Seriously, it's so fun and so clinically interesting. The thing with psychopaths is that therapy is contraindicated, because it's been found to only make them better psychopaths. So I don't even have to put my shrink hat on. Our "therapy" literally consists of me letting him talk and studying what he's doing. 

This guy is creepy and makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. This guy talks about the murder he committed as "something that had to be done." One day, after talking with him, I walked away and had the clearest thought of what it must feel like to be prey. I've never felt so studied. This guy would eat your brains just to see what they tasted like. 

The key aspect of psychopaths is that they have no true understanding of empathy. They are singularly focused on attaining their goal through whatever means necessary, and it never occurs to them to consider how they may influence other people. They are also fairly emotionless. The best description I've ever heard is that angry criminals are like pitbulls, while psychopaths are like snakes. Pitbulls get angry and react. Snakes plan and execute. 

One day, as this guy was talking very logically and rationally about his plan to kill himself, I asked about his family. And for a brief second he faltered. So fascinating. But even better is how he recovered. This guy stops for a second, clears his facial expression, leans down, and softly says, "You know, I really respect women. Some of the brightest, most intuitive doctors I've worked with have been women. I just want you to know that I never underestimate the intelligence of a woman." In my head I'm thinking, "Do the lambs still scream, Clarice?"

I freaking love this stuff. 

Sometimes inmates are assholes

I've always said that one of the biggest differences between male and female inmates is that the men are much more respectful. In my previous prisons, the men were very "Yes, M'aam" and "No, M'aam." The women pretty much said, "Who the hell do you think you are?" With the women, you had to earn the respect whereas with the men it was implied.

Turns out that's not true in California. In California, or maybe just my unique unit, these guys can be downright assholes.

I received my second death threat today. This one was much less entertaining and a lot more unnerving. Seemingly out of nowhere this guy started to explain how he was going to "tear me apart." Most likely he was upset because I "suggested" that he may not have been entirely truthful in his portrayal of his mental health symptoms. Luckily he was in a cell and I wasn't. I walked away. He then went on to scream, at length, what he thought of me. He doesn't think very highly of me. He talked about me, my intentions, and what sorts of activities he thinks I like to engage in with my co-workers. It was awful and incredibly uncomfortable. The worst part though was that, in order to hold him accountable, I had to write him up. In order to write him up, I had to quote him and then hand that to my sergeant, a man who I like and respect and has done a lot to help me secure my good standing on the unit. I also had to forward it to my supervisor who I also like and respect.

I sat there, for over an hour, while this man spewed vitriol about me. Pretty much everyone I work with was there to share the experience with me (and helpfully asked, "Who's he talking about?") As uncomfortable as that was, by far the worst part was writing that report. It was humiliating and uncomfortable. There was something about writing it down that made me feel like I needed to defend my reputation. It also made me question my competency because in the real world, "good psychologists" don't get multiple death threats.

Today sucked. On the upside, I don't have to go back tomorrow. C made an awesome dinner and I'm on the couch with Glee and a warm brownie. But yeah, sometimes inmates are assholes.

Pica

Word of the day
Today I got to say, in a meeting with people from lots of different disciplines, "You can't eat bird poop. Even as a joke. It's not funny and makes you look crazy." Then my boss piped in and said, "And that goes for hemorroid cream too!"

Seriously, I never thought this was a conversation I'd ever have.

Keeping it real

I had absolutely no internal censor today. As in none. I'm not really sure why, but I know that it wasn't good. In "sessions" (which lately consist mostly of me yelling through cracks in cell doors while the guy on the other side a. ignores me, b. sleeps, or c. I don't really want to think about it) I said, more than once, "Really? Like, you think people believe that?" and "Oh sure. I can totally see how your dog's death led you to rape, torture, and kill several people years later. Makes perfect sense." A friend once said to me, "You just have to be mean sometimes." I didn't believe her, but now I totally get it. There's really sick people on my unit, like, Jason Russell on a corner sick. But for each really sick guy, there's three more who are either not sick at all, or way more criminal than crazy. And sometimes you have to be mean. Usually though, I'm a bit more tactful.

During our treatment team meeting, which consists of my boss and most of my co-workers, one of my inmates was ineffectually playing very dumb and very vulnerable. I had LITERALLY seen him 30 minutes earlier laughing and joking and singing with staff. So when he acted like he had no idea when my boss asked him a question, I actually said "Yeah. Try again." Out loud. Empathy and supportive therapy, FTW!

After that, I engaged in a "That's what she said" conversation, with a sergeant, for longer than was probably professionally appropriate. We ragged on a coworker and his breath. I said "Fuck" more today than I have all month. I pried my boss for details on how someone managed to expose themselves while in restraints. I asked the same boss if her dementia was getting worse.

Seriously. No censor. At all.

Dr. Chiconky: Keeping it real.

Awkward

This morning I walked out my front door to a deluge of wind and rain and the realization that my coat was not going to be enough today. In consolation, and because I've started going every day, I went to Starbucks for a liquid pick-me-up. Like millions of others before him, he asked my name and then started to write it on the cup. I replied "Oh, no! Please don't do that!" Then I tried to explain why but it was early and I was awkward. So now I'm the paranoid chick who shows up every morning looking slightly guilty.

Things I said in a professional capacity today

"Take a shower. No seriously. Take a shower."
"You're acting the fool. That's right, I said it."
"So, you're going to tell your kids that dad's finest moment was getting taken down in a dress?"
"No I don't feel sorry for you. It's your own damn fault."
"I don't know who he was, but he was wearing a suit so he's probably important."
"This place sucks."
"I'm trying to think of a nice way to say he'll beat the shit out of the first person who looks at him."

Is it any wonder I can't act normal in public?

Incongruency

At work today, right after a pretty intense session with a woman who gave me a laundry list of really horrible, lose your faith in humanity things that happened to her before the age of 16, we all got called into an emergency staff meeting. Which is never good. And it wasn't. We found out that a lot of jobs, including mine and most of my friends', are being cut early next year. We knew this was coming, but none of us had any idea how many people would be affected. It sucks. There were a lot of tears, a lot of freaking out, and a lot of numb staring at walls.

But now I'm at home. Eli's watching a movie, Syd is running around in pigtails repeating HAP-py! HAP-py! and I'm getting ready to make chili dogs (definitely took a break on the diet. I'm a walking cliche) and I think we're going to be okay. In fact, this may turn out pretty awesome.

I'm probably going to get fired

In the past three days I have:
Flipped off an officer
Sat on the floor behind the officer's stations saying "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..."
Yelled at an inmate
Had an in-depth conversation with a black client about the viability of braids on a very white clinician's head (verdict? Braids are okay, beads are only for the weekends)
Flipped out on a co-worker about their scheduling a group (a more fun, more enticing group) at the same time as mine
Stomped my foot, in public
Said the word "Fuck" waaaaay more times than is professionally acceptable
Talked incessantly about my stupid diet, becoming one of "those people."

WTF is wrong with me? I'm not even especially stressed out. I've just apparently lost my ability to function appropriately around other people.

Ever the professional

I was walking with a group of my inmates today, coming back from the library. One woman wanted to show me "this great book I found!" So she pulls out a small book with the title "Love Your Body: Meditations to improve self-image" (or something like that). She was really excited about it, so I took it and opened it to see what it was about. Y'all. The page I opened started with this, verbatim. "I love my fingers. My fingers give me pleasure." I couldn't even help it. I giggled like a 14 year old and said "Seriously?" And then? She didn't get it, so ANOTHER inmate had to say "It looks like it's saying that you love to touch yourself." The passage went on to wax poetic about the "gift of touch" and how our fingers allow us to experience the world, yada yada yada. It didn't matter, the damage was done. I fumbled around to reframe or at least recover, but I don't think it worked very well. She took her book back and walked to the front of the line. And they're supposed to take me seriously? I'm going to call it "being genuine."

Seriously?

So this week I already spent a whole day addressing the issue of "poo" and it's role in a mental health environment. Despite all the wackiness on my unit, that's not typical. Usually it's a lot more angst and not quite so many bodily fluids. And yet. Today was just as crazy, if not more.

I was caught in the blow-back of a pepper spray incident. The officers occasionally have to use pepper spray when a situation is getting dangerous and the inmate isn't responding to direct orders ("STOP!" "Get down!" etc.) It's pretty concentrated, but if it does get sprayed you can definitely feel it. Usually I'm able to book it when I see that a situation is getting to that point, but I missed it today. And that stuff SUCKS. It feels like you're breathing hundreds of teeny tiny knives that get stuck in your throat. You cough but it does nothing. And the poor women who were sitting too close and actually got sprayed.

I had to go talk to the woman who had been sprayed, to make sure she was safe to be let back out. She was in the shower, rinsing off the spray, which means I got to talk to a soaking wet, naked woman about why she shouldn't throw things at other people.

I got a call a few minutes before I was supposed to leave that one of my new clients was screaming in her cell. I'd just met with her this morning and we seemed to make a connection. By the time I got over to the unit she was in the shower, soaking wet (I'm seeing a theme), banging her head and screaming like Linda Blair.

Two hours later I finally left the office and picked up the kids. In the car on the way home, I heard a tell-tale gurgle, and in my rearview mirror witnessed poor Syd puking her guts out, only she had so little energy behind it it was more like a slow leak. I pulled over, assessed the situation, cursed myself for cleaning out the car so well, and apologized profusely to my poor baby who now had to ride home in vomit.

I'm really hoping the rest of the weekend is less drippy.

Poo

So I had this whole post drafted in my head about how working in a women's prison is exactly like working with high school kids. They're cliquey and angsty and self-centered. Trends pop up in seconds (eg braids, threading, stuffed animals made out of towels and t-shirts, snorting coffee) and die out twice as fast. Authority figures are "obviously" clueless, spiteful, or just stupid. Insecurity is hidden behind judgement and mocking. They prey on the weak, disregard rules, and are quick to burst into tears. In short, it's Mean Girls with more tattoos and fewer shots of the mall. At first it was hard for me, since high school was one of my less-than-finer moments. If you have any buttons, they will find it and push it. Over and over and over and over. This week alone I have talked on and on about my propensity for cardigans, "why are your arms red?," "why do you smell like that (good and bad)?" "why do you roll your eyes? (I wonder...)" and a myriad of personal questions, "why don't you..."s, and "you never...!"s. That's what I was *going* to write about.

But then today I spent all. freaking. day. talking about shit. "Fecal matter." Poop. Who had it. Why they had it. What they were doing with it and who may have witnessed said acts. I heard the most bizarre statements coming out of my mouth. Statements like "Is it hard to poo in a can?" "I think it's called a 'Dirty Sanchez'""Where'd you keep it?" and (brace yourself) "What did it taste like?" This doctor thing is glamorous, I'm telling you.

So yeah, prison. A lot like high school. Except for the shit.

Shrunk

Dude. You guys are awesome. I truly wasn't fishing for complements, but y'all definately delivered. And if there was any question, I can be reassured that, though I may be lumpy with a frog voice, I still have my hair :) Here's the thing. The women who asked if I was pregnant? One asked me today for more medication because she'd snorted all of hers so that she could be pregnant on the day she gets out of prison. The other one hit on a co-worker that wears these to work. I really don't take much of what they say to heart. If anything, their honesty is endearing (or aggravating, but I digress.) But still, thank you. You made me smile.

So, on a totally unrelated note. Today we had a partial lockdown, so I had a few hours to kill. This led to a few conversations with my co-workers. One of the reasons I love working on Fridays is the team that's there. We can talk about almost anything. Today though was pretty heavy on the shrink talk, which kind of makes me want to cut off my head. Some of the things that I said today, with a completely straight face:

"This might be my own 'stuff' but..." This is shrink code for "I'm about to say something whiny but want to sound self-aware."
"I'm just feeling very frustrated and irritated." Dude. Emotions are good, but I don't ALWAYS have to name them.
"You've brought up________ several times. I wonder if there's something going on behind that?" Not to a patient but to a co-worker. Really. I usually try not to "shrink" when I'm off-duty, but apparently I'm not always so good with it. Seriously. Sometimes I want to smack myself in the face.

It's an interesting approach

Sometimes when I'm getting ready for work Eli will wake up (at the crack of dawn) and want to follow me around as I finish getting ready. This part's great, but unfortunately it's often followed by "But Mama..., don't leave Mama, why can't you take me to school Mama?" and a 5 minute good-bye suddenly becomes 15, culminating in peeling/shushing a crying (dramatically, not emotionally) four year old off of my leg, then I'm rushing out the door, squealing into the parking lot at a *barely* reasonable 15 minutes late, and ducking all the looks as I sneak into the morning meeting just in time to sign in and leave. It's a crappy way to start my day, and I miss getting my second cup of coffee. Seriously, it just starts the day off bad. One morning a few months back I told Eli that I had to be on time to work or my boss, who Eli met once, will get mad at me and I'll get in trouble. This accomplished two things. One, Eli started letting me leave a bit easier and two, I totally villian-ized my boss. Luckily we don't do a lot of fraternizing. This morning I was again trying to leave, late as usual, and Eli was walking me to the door. I could see the wheels turning and he'd already asked once if I could take him to daycare. But instead of throwing a fit or dissolving in hysterics, he thought hard and made this suggestion. "Mama, if you're late, just act like a kangaroo." "What?!" "Yeah Mama, act like a kangaroo. Then Dr. _____ won't notice that you're late and he won't be mad." Pretty clever, don't you think?

Hope

I don't think it's any secret that I love my job. Seriously, today I said "Magic Cooch" and "Bologna Toilet Baby" in an official clinical meeting. To the Chief of Mental Health. To say my job is awesome would be an understatement. A co-worker of mine calls himself a "care whore" since we are paid to care about other people. I prefer to think that I care for free and charge for the paperwork, but in part he's right. And sometimes that part is really really hard.

I have been working with a woman for several months who has spent most of her life incarcerated. I've worked really hard to earn her trust, and she's worked really hard not to trust me. Despite this I think we do have a pretty good clinical relationship. I like this woman. I care about all of my clients, but I genuinely like her. She's a smart ass. She doesn't put up with a lot of drama or bullshit. She's kind of mean, but has a tenderness to her as well. But she is so, so sad. So sad that my eyes tear up when I sit in a room with her. So hopeless that when I say I care about her well-being she can't hear my words. So desperate that I think she'd do just about anything to end her pain.

It's such a weird dynamic, because my purpose is to care about people but my job, and my sanity, require a certain amount of distance. On top of that, there's the philosophical question. Do people have a right to live, or not live, their life the way they choose? I believe suicide is tragic, and in most cases cowardly. However, I wonder how I would feel if I were faced with a lifetime of incarceration. Especially here. I'm not sure how long I would want to do it, how long before I lost hope.

It's so hard, because in this case I feel like a serious attempt is inevitable and so it's become a waiting/guessing game. Luckily, she feels safe enough with me to tell me how she's feeling so that I can help. I hope she continues to trust me, and that maybe, maybe we can find some hope that she can hold on to. Even just a little.

Rethinking

I wrote a post late last night about lockdowns and my perceived benefit of having the unit shut down for a minute. Reading it this morning, I realized that what I had written, attempting to convey the feeling of relief that comes from being "off duty" for a little while, instead came across as callous and dismissive. That's not how I see myself, and not a message that I want to convey, so I deleted the post.

One of the things I struggle with in my job is public perception and public opinion of inmates. This unfortunately sometimes carries over to coworkers as well. There's this idea that BECAUSE they are serving sentences, that gives us as society a right to dismiss them, write them off, or treat them in such a way that suggests they are "less than" the rest of us. And that's something that drives me crazy, makes me cringe, and raises my hackles. The truth is, prison, the physical location, IS the punishment. Beyond that, attitudes and judgements are cruel and unnecessary. Yes, sometimes the women that I work with act out, and yes, they wear me out sometimes. Yes, some of them have done horrific, awful things. But that doesn't make them bad people. I don't want to give the impression that I "deal with" the women at work. I am so fortunate to have the opportunity to make a difference, to maybe be the first constant or to provide tools for the future, and I see that as a privilege. But sometimes, like in parenting, I get tired or distracted and I forget what an amazing chance I have, everyday, to make the world a little better.

I apologize if you read my last post and got a bad impression about inmates. Yes, I appreciated the break, but today, with it's chaos and drama and rush is a lot more fun.

The Look

My work wardrobe has a few "quirks." The first is that, even though Syd's already 9 months old and the weight is gone, I'm not sure how it all got so rearranged. So the old stuff doesn't fit the same anymore. Second, I have to carry a huge keyring and a pad alarm (like a garage door opener) "on my person" (read: not sitting on my desk) at all times. So I've been sticking with the same three or four pairs of pants with pockets and a selection of cardigans. And I. AM. BORED. The budget and a goal of losing more weight mean that I don't really want to spend a lot on new clothes so I've been shopping in my closet and trying to be more creative with what I have.



Today I wore a skirt (!), with no pockets (!), black turtleneck, and gray cardigan. And these shoes. These fabulous, shiny shoes that have been sitting in my closet, unworn, for over a year.

It was kind of a pain in the ass dealing with my keys and my alarm, but I felt Awesome. Isn't it amazing how a great outfit can make you feel ten feet tall?

So tired...

I haven't slept well in days. Last night Syd woke up coughing her poor head off at 1:00. Then she realized how awesome that was and was ready to party. For two freaking hours. Which woke Eli up. Who threw a fit because I wouldn't let him climb in bed with us (because I'm a big meany and we still just have the queen size and it was just too early for a foot in the spleen). So that was fun. The night before I just didn't sleep. Weirdest thing. I layed there all night, but didn't sleep. I've never been a person who loves sleep (in my perfect universe, we wouldn't need to sleep, eat, or go to the bathroom. Welcome to my neuroses.) but I've never had a problem sleeping. I'm blaming it on over-caffination, children, and stress. I have the last, very last, very very last test that I have to take, ever, tomorrow and I've totally freaked myself out about it. Dude. Just completely lost my train of thought. Gone. So yeah, tired. On the plus side, today I've had several sodas, two donuts, a huge brownie, and a baked potato covered in a mountain of cheese. It's all about the self-care. And elastic waist pants at the rate I'm going.

These are the things making me super happy right now, despite my delirium and anxiety.

The Portable North Pole. If you haven't done this and you have kids, GO. NOW. Seriously the most awesome thing ever. And totally free, which is even better. I could tell Eli was having a hard time buying the whole Santa thing, but he's a card-carrying believer now. He keeps telling me, "Mama, Santa's counting on me to be nice." Sold.

Syd may not sleep great (see above) but man that girl likes to eat. She's a great eater, and it's so fun watching her figure it out. We gave the school the green light to try her on some lunch foods and it's gone great. Yesterday she had tuna noodle casserole for lunch. That just cracks me up.

I did all of my Christmas shopping on-line this year. How did I not think to do this before? It's amazing! I had to go to Target last week for formula and nearly had an anxiety attack from all the people. I can't imagine ever going to a mall in December again. Seriously, couple of clicks on my lunch break, free shipping, and my shopping's waiting for me at home. And. AND. No looking everywhere for the perfect ______________. 'Cause you know what? You can buy anything on the internet. And usually cheaper. I may do all my shopping on-line.

We have our tree up and went looking at Christmas lights last weekend. This year I'm really excited for Christmas and really getting into the spirit. A couple more days and I'll be able to recite "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" word for word.

And in true disjointed fashion, totally unrelated pictures of my kids.