I wish I had listened to my dad (you hear me, dad?! you were RIGHT!) all those many years ago when he recommended I pursue medical school instead of vet school. At that time, I had no interest in working with humans. I loved animals and wanted to be a vet! Well, I thought I loved animals… After getting a degree in Animal Science and working in the vet world for a few years, I realized I don't actually love animals. I love cats. Only cats. And in case you've never taken a cat to the vet, it is AWFUL. No bueno.
Ironically, now I'm a nurse working with hoomans. I've pondered several times going back to school to pursue a medical degree. Each time I consider it I determine that maybe if I was in a different stage of life, I would possibly go for it. But at this stage of the game, with young kids, I don't want to start pursuing something so all life-consuming for so.many.years. And after all the years and years of MCAT'ing and applying and getting accepted and going through intensive schooling, residences and fellowships, the job itself is intensive as well. Not too many 9-5 doctor jobs available for new doctors.
So that is what I regret. Not chasing after medical school as an 18 year old.
As a military kid, I always found this question difficult to answer. We moved every 1-4 years. I was born in Texas. I graduated from high school in Maryland. I went to college in North Carolina. I had grandparents in Charlotte, NC and Williamsburg, VA. My name, Betty Anne, sounds as deep south as one possibly can, but my accent doesn't match. However, when people asked me where I was from, they were usually looking for a location--a city and/or state.
I came across this recently, and it made me ponder some things.
"If you spill your coffee on me once, it's no big deal. But when I get coffee spilled on me every damn day, can you blame me for being pissed off when you spill your coffee on me too?"
That is a really, really great analogy. To me it means that I need to be more aware of what I say to people.
1) I need to keep in mind that I may be genuinely interested in getting to know someone better and learning more about them, but perhaps they have fielded the "where are you from" question one too many times.
2) Genuinely getting to know someone better and learning more about them may be appropriate motivation for a question about where someone is from. It may be okay in the context of a developing friendship with an individual. The stranger behind me in the Target line is probably not a developing friend. Neither is the coffee shop barista.
3) Thinking before I speak is a struggle for me day to day. In this case in particular, I need to think about why I am asking such a question. Am I just nosey/curious/wanna know and therefore it's all about me? Because that's probably the answer 90% of the time.
4) I think pregnant women could identify strongly with the "coffee spilling" analogy above. Visibly pregnant women get bombarded with all kinds of inappropriate, personal questions daily. As do multiracial families. Or really large families. Or... or... or... the list could go on and on of people fielding repetitive questions from strangers.
I feel like I'm not expressing myself very well right now, but hopefully I'm making some inkling of a point. Let's think more about what we say before we say it and have a little bit of mercy for one another.
Maybe that person has had one too many coffee spills...
I better believe that saying...at least after yesterday...
James, Reese, and I were moseying around the backyard yesterday seeing what there was to be seen. As we strolled around the trees, we noticed a plethora of these creepy creatures:
There were at least five of these empty shells on each tree trunk. We walked around each tree and brushed them onto the ground. If I had to name that game, I'd call it "flick it" or something, because that's what we did. Keep in mind, I never touched one of these suckers. Not once. James was carrying a toy with him. He used said toy to flick the cicada shells to the ground. So James never touched one either. Reese, however, is a different story. She boldly grabbed them with her bare hands. Ew ew ew. If we were keeping score in our game of Flick It, she would've definitely won for the most cicadas flicked.
She is woman hear her ROAR. This picture isn't from yesterday, but it shows her personality well...
After that game ended and all the trees were ridded of their ghostly freeloaders, we moved on to attempting to weed one of our flower beds. I put on gloves. James put on gloves, but didn't touch the dirt. He just wandered around the yard marveling at his gloved hands. Reese opted out of gloves and dove hands first into the dirt. Raise your hand if you're surprised.
I made a little bit of progress. Not a lot, but a little...
See how there is WAY MORE grass/weeds/green stuff on the left, inside the "flower bed" than there is on the "grass" side, on the right?? It's shameful, really. What can I say...I'm not a yard work person. As if I need to tell you that after sharing that photo...
I would've made more progress (possibly) except for how helpful Reese was. As I was bent over pulling weeds, she managed to get a handful of dirt projectiled through the air in the exact right fashion that a whole lot of it ended up in my below-the-belt undergarments. NOT COOL Reese, NOT COOL. I reprimanded her for throwing dirt and continued on my quest. I figured I could handle a little dirt in some awkward places. That's what showers are for.
A few moments later, having not heeded my stern instruction, Reese launched another fistful of dirt at me, this time it hit my head and upper body, a fair amount miraculously ending up in my above-the-belt undergarments. This was the last straw for me. Apparently having dirt in my underwear was okay, but DIRT IN MY BRA and in my hair was just too much. I fussed at her again and dragged all of us inside for baths/showers. James looked confused, appropriately so, since he was the only clean one of us at that point.
I share this story so that years from now, when Reese wants my help raising a mess-loving daughter of her own, I can point her back to her own childhood and snicker, just like my mom is doing now...
