Stabber Girl

Eliana has earned herself the name "Stabber." This is because she stabbed Stephanie in the bottom with a surgical knife, right after Stephanie had gotten out of the shower.


There is no evidence to suggest that I was the one who inadvertently left the sterile blade in a reachable position for my two-year old to grab and activate.


At any rate, I stopped the bleeding (sorry, rug) and steri-stripped the laceration. Poor Steph had to sit weird for 3 days.


But Eli-babes is precious, even though she stabbed her mother; remind me to hold this over her head for the next 45 years. Also remind me to stop letting Eliana watch Hell on Wheels with us.




Look at that innocent face!

What Big Brothers Need

Braeden brought a book up to Stephanie and directed her to the Afterward for Parents section, which extensively discussed the psychological needs of an older sibling after a baby is born. He told her, "Mom, this is what I need. I didn't even know I needed all this!"


She wasn't sure what to say.

Remembering the Dismemberment

So, yesterday we had a guy in the ED who was dragging around his one-wheeled cart full of dismembered, scalped, and decapitated sex doll body parts wrapped in saran wrap and littered with wet lacy underwear and long socks. Honorable mention would be for the swastikas drawn all over the well-worn boobies, which confused me. Ashley (another RN) had the pleasure of dragging it clear across campus, only to have to drag it back when she couldn't find a place to store it. The body parts kept rolling out of the cart, and I'm not sure if anybody gave her weird looks about why she was transporting such...goods.


The humor award still goes to the poor blighter who came in after scalding his entire torso while making doughnuts shirtless; he did lots of things right to stop the burning, but that probably doesn't include slathering his entire upper body with yellow mustard to stop the pain. He thought the vinegar in the mustard would help, and maybe the vinegar would have, but he didn't think about the picante aspect of mustard. Ruth told him he smelled like a giant hot dog.


Also, I've decided to braid my beard. It's going to be amazing.

On Another Note....

I once compared the gospel of Jesus Christ during the time I was a missionary to a mother having a newborn child; the gospel affected how I viewed everything. It affected what I ate, when I slept, what I spent my time doing, how I was viewed by others, and caused many painfully sleepless nights with feelings of inadequacy during significant periods of personal growth. I remember with fondness, but acknowledge how difficult that time was for me and how it changed me, and not always in ways I would consider to be positive.

Since then, my relationship with the gospel has changed. My view of it has grown. I still love it, the same way I love my children as they get older, but the relationship is different somehow. It isn't as innocent, doesn't control me in the same way it once did. I view it as a living, breathing part of my life that still requires time, devotion, and a lot of patience. My son will always be my child, no matter what, and my faith will always be a part of my life, no matter how my relationship may evolve.

In the end, I am in a period of my life when I choose to have faith that there is more than the paltry number of years until our bodies fail us. All of the arguments, all of reasoning, and all of the doubts must eventually be addressed in this way for me: I either choose to embrace the vacuum of disbelief, or I welcome the opportunity to recognize the spiritual light in my life.

I read a discourse yesterday comparing personal revelation to light: sometimes it's bright, and sudden, and full; light that illuminates with a burst of electricity flowing from the center of a room. Usually, however, revelation is more like the dawn; it approaches slowly, with hints that it's coming, gradually opening up the details of the world. Some days the sun is beautiful, and warm, and obvious; other days, clouds interfere, and it is difficult to even discern when the sun has risen above the horizon.

It's been a lot of cloudy days. I can still see God in the life around me, but I need the sunny warmth of His obvious presence again, to boost me. I wonder how I can achieve that, or if it's even within my control.

My question for today is how can Jesus Christ have all-encompassing empathy for us, if he never sinned to the point of losing hope of redemption? I think of the alcoholic, who attempts for the hundredth time to free himself from his vice, and fails. I think of the person who leaves her last circle of friendship in ruins, hopelessly feeling the weight of self-inflicted loneliness.

Either way, maybe today I can show better understanding for somebody. Let's go with that.

I am trying to decide if it is necessary to build a casket in which to bury my old lawnmower motor, which by all evidence experienced an ascending aortic dissection from which was spewing geyser-worthy amounts of oil that should have been changed 642 times more than it actually was during the 9-year life span of the mower.


I probably won't build a casket. The mower only cost me $50 to begin with, and since I'm too cheap to even buy another used mower I've just bought an engine from Harbor Freight to jimmy-rig onto the old deck. This has proved to be more challenging than originally thought, though it's nothing a box-cutter and foil tape and Ebay parts couldn't remedy.


Except I haven't run the newly-built lawnmower yet, so it might explode.


On another note, my oldest son was writing notes to his friend in class that he can't wait to go swimming, "mostly because we'll be able to see Lexi in her swimming suit." I'm not sure how to talk to an 8-year old about why this concerns me.


Eliana turned 2 years old, which was both depressing and happy at the same time, and I am growing my beard out ever since I started watched Hell on Wheels because the main character has an amazing beard that looks like a lion's mane.


I received a certificate from the VA director for amazing customer service. I also was reported to the Oregon State Board of Nursing by a psychotic patient who basically is saying I tried to murder him by removing his IV. So there's that.