Sometimes I wonder if I wonder about things a bit too much.

As I'm sitting there, peeling the cold, wet, floppy, and slightly tacky sock off my left foot, I actually feel a small shiver of disgust emerge from deep (ohh so deep) within the primal brain, that tiny core that maybe came to be right after the brainstem became a thing.

It made it halfway down my spine, then shot through to the backside of my stomach and seemed to gain density in an explosive expansion into my chest. I actually feel a bit nauseous as I type this, reminiscing on the sensation.

It was a struggle to tamp that sensation back down and for whatever reason, I felt disappointed in myself. I'm a God damn nurse after all. I have been through some shit and within minutes of being clear of the situation started shoving food into my mouth and was just fine.

I've had some of the best conversations of my life with total strangers as they spatter GI bleed poo into a bucket on legs while I'm just starting to fill them back up until somebody can go in there and see if they can stop the damn bleed, locked in to hanging out RIGHT THERE for the duration, in case the GOMER (not really a GOMER. Be careful with the ideas that dehumanize patients, even if it is a protective measure) goes to ground.

That smell is horrid and the scent will cling to you for hours.

I've even had an alcoholic in the midst of a total withdrawal flavored delirium carnival going on in his head unplug his catheter as he either danced or fought his way around the room (we didn't know what the hell he was trying to do, and He didn’t either) and end up flinging some urine in my face. I’m not into this, but I was able to use the experience to make it awkward for one of my co-workers once I got back (making fellow ER nurses uncomfortable is always a win. It’s a twisted and perverse game that’s played.).

So with this as my background, my lived experience, why am I so disgusted peeling a wet sock off my foot after I stepped in a puddle of cold urine?

"Who in the fuck pissed on the floor?" I wanted to yell.

Something roughly 2% better came out of my mouth.

"Not me." Says the 9 year old, and she's probably right.

"WHAT?" Yells the 7 year old at me, all super pissed like.

"It was dark. I COULDN'T SEE."

Anyway, reflecting on this unfortunate situation, I started to ponder: would this have been better if the piss puddle had been warm, or balmy, even?

This went on for a while, and at some point, some still rational part of my brain picked it head up, looked around, elbowed me and was like:
"Hey. Do you actually realize what you're pondering right now?

Seriously. Just step back and take a look at this.

Please stop."

So anyway, my kid pissed on the floor and I stepped in it and that sucked.

I would have preferred it to have been a warm puddle.

The Secret to Being an Adult

Last year my son came up to me while I was raking the lawn and was all like "Dad, what are you doing?"
And I was like "Well my dear child, I have no fucking clue. You see, that's one of the secret pillars of adulthood. I'm just pretending like I know what I'm doing but really, I have no idea." I then broke down in tears as he slowly backed away to try and extract themselves from the situation. It was awkward. You'd think at the age of 3 they would at least have learned to deal with stuff like that a bit better. Alternatively, this story forwards to that evening where my wife is telling me not to swear around the 3 year old.

Other Pillars of Adulthood I've identified:
-Always feeling like you forgot something. You probably did.
-Always wanting a nap. Even after just getting up from a nap. Napping is broken somehow. A good night's sleep is just fucking toast.
-Achy knees and back that make noises. Bonus shoulder joint pain included.
-I feeling I'm forgetting a few but I've addressed that in one of the points above.
Check off a few of these and you may be on your way to being a grown up!
Are you getting AARP mailers yet?
They were giving away a really nice looking tote the other day as a bonus gift for singing up.... a nice trunk organizer the week before but I missed out on that one.

They’re Burritos.

This starts with a great but typical place to start a story at: the beginning of the day. The moment when my consciousness first starts to surface, emerging from either a deep darkness or an unopposable force pulling me from a dream to the surface of my mind, the sensations from my body flooding in. Stiff neck, a need to pop my back, ignored but still uncomfortably full bladder, I start the day.

I'm not really sure where, as a parent, I should step in. All morning the four year old has issuing commands to the two year old who (happily) complies.

It's actually pretty impressive. She has been in a pissy mood all morning. The first words out of her mouth this morning to me were "Uhh! I don't wanna see you." She then ran to her mother and proceeded to complain (as only a four year old can) about how much me entering her visual field ruined her morning. Maybe not those exact words, but that was what she was getting at.

Anyway, she has spent much of the morning on the floor in a small pile of blankets. At first, to clear out the area, she just plopped right down onto the mess of toys that always litter our floor but then she grabbed them and started chucking them away from I'm her. At one point she threw the two year old's baseball glove and he misinterpreted her tantrum for wanting to play so he ran over, grabbed the glove, climbed up the eight inches onto the hearth, using it as a stage from which to throw with sniper precision his baseball glove right at her head. Now this isn't a large or heavy glove. It's actually quite soft for a glove so I do not feel as bad as I probably should that my first thought was "Since I'm probably not allowed to do that, throw another one for me."

So she ends up with a glove to her face and I end up feeling guilty. A little less than I should have, though.

One of the biggest parenting mistakes I've made is continuing to overpower my children. This probably can take many forms, and I'm sure if you read into that statement one could come up with many deep and varied layers this might apply, but this realization I had was regarding sound. Vocally, when things get loud and both kids are jabbering at the top of their voice with no regard to volume I just use my bouncer voice. Same one I used to use at bar time to clear out the bar. On further review, it seems that when I talk over them, in a louder voice, this just gives them a bar, a target, out of reach, for how could their tiny necks ever hope to compete with my bouncer yell, but damn it, those little fuckers sure do try. Louder and louder we go, none listening, all shouting some nonsense they feel needs to be uttered: "MY PONY HAS PINK HAIR AND HER NAME IS CRYSTAL!!!" "BALL!!!! BALL!!!!!" "SIT DOWN AT THE TABLE UNTIL YOU ARE DONE EATING.!!!!" "WHAT TIME ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT GOING TO THE STORE DON'T THROW BALLS IN THE HOUSE!!!!" "CRYSTAL, CRYSTAL!!!" Until we BURN ourselves out.

The life I live is a sad one.

Well after the bedtime hour the four year old emerges from her room, seeks me out and asks "What are you eating?"

It's a breakfast burrito we get in 12 packs from Wal-Mart. This one is a potato egg something with enough bad ingredients packed in one of them to murder two mice along with my feelings, replacing them with the hope of one day having a massive coronary.

I have three of them on my plate.

"A burrito." I replied, not wanting to give her a forum from which to delay bedtime or obtain any percentage of my meal.

The four year old: "Ohh. What kind of burrito?"

Me: "One with potatoes, eggs and other items I find appealing at this time of day."

The four year old: "Ohh. Huh. I..... I kinda like burritos."

Me: "Huh."

An awkward silence ensued, with her silently watching me eat. Maybe not really that awkward. For me. Awkward for her though, as she stared at me, while I ate a delicious breakfast burrito for a bed time snack which actually turns out to be my supper so there is no way I'm giving it up. She wandered off eventually.

Driving in the car.

The four year old: "Dad, can you close the roof window?"

Me: "Why?"

The four year old: "I don't want bird poop to get in."

Tonight I told the older one it was time to put on her pajamas. She said she was more comfortable in her swimsuit so she could do gymnastics(she then did a little twirl to the couch, leans to the side on it and side kicks with her head tilted to the other side).

I again told her it was time to change. Firmly, in what some might a rather angry voice.

She said, extending towards me her arm, four fingers up, thumb tucked to her palm) "I think...... just four more. Just four."

"Three." I replied, then immediately thinking to myself "Why in the fuck did I answer right away? Why do I feel like I made a bad deal with a four year old? How does an adult fuck up that bad? Do I subconsciously feel like I'm in such a poor position of power I can't lay down a "One" and couldn't even push for such a low number as two, halfway between my goal of zero and hers of four. No, I jumped to three right away.

She starts in: "Well, I thought about thinking about two and maybe how I was thinking... ("Holy shit!" I think to myself, "she's negotiating herself down to two and that's just poor practice, but I guess I should really try and remember she's really only four and might not have a solid grasp on setting winning goals or the tactics used to achieve them.) ....two and two really isn't enough, its just three is just the right number and I'll do three."

"God damn it." I thought to myself. She knows when to seize an opportunity. I then proceeded to witness seven straight minutes of freeform little gymnast dancing featuring moves such as:

-The Twirl!
-The Moon Arch Headstand While Looking Out Upside Down From Under Your Butt.
-The Side Kick Couch Hold!
-The Somersault!
-The Kick Leap
-The Slow Roll Around The Living Room while The Giant Teddy Bear Is Clutched In One Arm And Her Head Is Slowly Pushed Across the Floor Using A Method That Looks Pretty Painful And I'm Sure She's Going To Get Up With No Forehead Left Cause She Rugburned It Off But She's Fine.
-The Crouch And Leap
-and many, many more