Sunday, March 18, 2012


Finding his body on the ground, blood in his ear, nose and mouth.  He was snoring so loudly as he breathed in  and foaming as he breathed out.  I opened one eye with my fingers to see if they were rolled back in his head but his pretty brown eyeball was still there glassed over, not looking back at me.
Waiting for help.
Seeing him in the E.R., the soup I had made a day earlier that he had eaten for lunch vomited all over his chest and down the side of the hospital bed.  A man manually pumping air into his mouth with a big balloon-like pump.  Thanking the man.
Waiting for him to fly out.
My brother and mom in the car with me. My brother driving and my mom in the back seat holding my hand. Waiting to get there.
Walking in to the waiting room in Wichita to find over 30 of his family members there, waiting.  Waiting for me, waiting for news, waiting.
Waiting for a sign of life.
Waiting for MRI's.
Waiting for him to wake up.
Waiting for a finger movement or an eye flicker.
Being told he was well enough to leave ICU.
Looking at him and wondering how the hell that could be possible.  He was still in a coma!  What the hell???
Waiting for a bed on the regular medical floor.
Waiting for his leg to stop kicking.
Waiting for his foot to stop bleeding.
Waiting for a bed at Madonna.
Riding in the ambulance all the way to Nebraska.
Seeing so many guys who were ready to go home and realizing I didn't want him to be like them.  They were still so injured.
Realizing him being like them would be least he'd have quality of life.
Waiting for family to visit.
Waiting for his collar to come off so I could cut his mullitt.
Waiting for therapy.
Waiting for him to sit up, to stand up, to eat, to speak, to look at me and know who I was.
Waiting for his anger to go away.
Waiting for his black eye to disappear.
Waiting to be discharged.
Waiting for his eyes to go back to normal.
Waiting for the pain to go away.

Waiting for the pain to go away.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

I'm Merely a Grasshopper

Today I am going to write a tribute to my mostest favoritest teacher of all time. He was actually never MY teacher but the things he and his family taught me were more valuable and helpful in my life than anything I've learned in the classroom. Today's post is dedicated to the one: the only: Mr. Strecker.
When I started Jr. High our principal was kind of a push over. He let the kids in our school do things like hold hands in the hallways and (gasp) wear tank tops. If you got sent to the principal's office you got a little lecture and were sent on your way. When I was in 8th grade we got a new principal. *dun Dun DUN!* On the first day of school that year we had the usual all school assembly. In our small town all school meant 7th grade through seniors, this was about 100 kids all together. Mr. Strecker introduced himself and wasted no time laying down some new rules. First off there would be a strict "hands off" policy in school. No touching! Second there would be a dress code; no inappropriate clothing of any kid. This was an outrage!  My fiend Brian coughed the word "bullshit" and Mr. Strecker didn't even ask if he had heard Brian right, he just kicked him out and gave him in-school suspension!!! I swear, it was like we were staring right at the male version of Miss Viola Swamp! (If you don't remember who she is, google her)
But alas, I love crabby old people (when I was 13 Mr. Strcker was considered that I am over 30 I have sense changed that ruling) so I knew right away I would love Mr. Strecker. I just needed to find his weakness. I set to work right away and he proved to be much less of a challenge than I had expected. His weakness was as simple as a twinkle of the eye. If you wanted to cause mischief all you had to do was smile and show the evil gleam in your eye and he turned into an ornery kid right along with you. My friends and I would sit by him and his wife at basketball games just to hear his comments about the other teams. The little kids I babysat for would instantly look at him like a grandpa. He would speak in French to them and laugh at their sweet confused faces. He had a great big smile and a great laugh and the little kids ate him up. I would beg him to call down to Mrs. Dlabel's math class and have her send me and my best friend Tara to the office so we could get out of math and listen to him tell stories of his family and past teaching jobs. When he would get a call from someone important he rarely made us leave the room but would put the phone down on the desk and make us laugh then pick the phone up again and talk as if he was listening the whole time. It was the first time I had ever met an adult that could be respected and taken seriously but could have so much fun at the same time. He taught me not to take life so seriously. He also taught me that it's not being "fake" when you're behaving as you should when you should only to turn around an have some mischievous fun when the time is right.
The biggest obsicle in my life so far was when my first husband and I were in a terrible accident and spent months in the hospital.  It was the attitude that Mr. Strecker and his family had shown me that let me laugh at the things we were going through. I would laugh at some of the things Danny did (like thinking he was getting totally drunk on...MILK) and I was free to not feel guilt about laughing at him or our situation. I knew I loved him and I knew what mattered; and having fun while we were there so he could learn how to...oh... and walk was one of the only things that kept me hopeful. A good attitude and the grace of God.
One of my dearest friends recently described me like this; "Sarah, who makes no excuses whatsoever for herself.....she can insult a person while simultaneously charming them....You see, Sarah is not blonde, so she has to rely on things like actual humor and intelligence to get her by. I know. I feel sorry for her too. But don't expect her to feel like life cheated her out of anything." This is EXACTLY how I would describe my dear Mr. Strecker,  I am merely the cute young grasshopper and he was my teacher. <3

Monday, September 26, 2011

The life of boobs

I was looking at my body tonight wishing that I had a better figure and thinking about how boobs migrate shift over time.  This made me think of some of my first memories of my own boobs and when I realized I was becoming a woman. 
I remember writing my mom a note asking if I could start wearing a bra.  I threw it at her in her chair and ran away to my room embarrassed.  I'm guessing I was hoping she would just write back....she didn't.  I remember the knot in my stomach when I heard her softly knock on my bedroom door.  My mom is a great mom.  She didn't let me grow up too fast. She told me that I wasn't old enough yet but it wouldn't be long until I was ready for first training bra. During that talk she mentioned something about not needing a bra until I could hold a pencil under my "breast" .........Ummmm......excuse me, What??? What did that even MEAN?????  This made NO sense to me.  Shouldn't I get a training bra to train for this great pencil challenge?
That conversation has haunted me stuck with me over the years.  What was the pencil tests origin??? Who on earth thought of this little boob test and why a pencil?  So, what the hell?  Standing there in my bathroom this evening I grabbed a, I'm not a math genius but I know that test would be worthless!.....I wrote down some thoughts on boobs.
I give you: The Life of Boobs*:
  • When a girl becomes a woman she has perky little breasts that don't sag, stand up at attention and look pretty. She has a hard time filling a bra.
  • When a woman becomes a mother she gets gigantic, fabulous breasts that can move mountains.  She has a hard time staying in a bra.
  • When a mom is...well..a run down, haggard shell of the vibrant woman she use to be she gets has what appears to be flesh colored bean bags that have somehow lost at LEAST half of the beans. But the bottom of the saggy bag is still somewhat firm.  She has a hard time finding a clean bra what with all the laundry.
  • When a grandmother is born she has the chest of a small child and  there are two little, deflated, squishy sacks of boob left on each side of her belly button.  She doesn't give a shit about a bra.
*Information gathered from my own personal experience as a woman and as a nurse's aid in the nursing home where, depending on personal preference, I would help shove old, tired boobs into bras or let them hang free.
Also, based on my experience, I am confident in saying The Life of Balls would be quite similar to The Life of Boobs....but I'm not going to write that one. ;)

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Children of the corn?

Brad and I like to watch ghost stories and paranormal stuff to try to scare ourselves into...I don't know what...we just like to be scared I guess.  Recently Luka started having sleep terrors and Brad has been using this to try to scare me. There's a teeny, tiny nagging fear in my soul that he likes to keep poking at with hints of paranormal activity in our house. 
Let me explain what it's like when Luka does his thing.  First, you're awaken by a shrill scream that could wake the dead.  Then you run to your baby's side to comfort him and his eyes are only half open and he freaks out if you touch him yelling "NO! NO!".  You have to sit there like a creeper waiting for his head to spin or him to hurl split pea soup all over the bed.  Once he wakes up, he looks at you like you're nuts for being in the room, hugs you and goes right back to sleep.  NOT NORMAL.
Last night, after the kids were in bed and Nadia was asleep, Luka kept coming out of his room trying to sneak around the house.  When we would come out to check on him he would be as still as possible hoping that we wouldn't see him and send him back to his room.  This is the opportunity Brad pounces on.  "That kid is just sitting there, starring at the wall.  He's possessed."  He says it with the look on his face that says he only kind of kidding.  Why does he mess with me like that?  I remember doing that crap with Matthew and Hannah when we were little!  But when Brad suggests that Luka is possessed it freaks me out! Possessed kids: the scariest shit EVER!  I'll tell Brad that Luka is just hiding from us so he won't have to go to bed and Brad will respond with, "Oh no, that kid is talking to his "new friend".  He's messed up Sarah." again with his half smirk.  Ass.

The other thing he likes to do is point out how creepy kid's toys are at night.  If the kids leave a random toy out, Brad will swear to me that it moved on it's own or that it's watching us.  Seriously, there is something so creepy about a random kid toy looking right at you in the dark!

Last night our bedroom door shut all by it's self.  I checked on the kids afterward  and they were both completely asleep.  We did have the windows open...yea, that's what it was...the wind.  Not the anime My Little Pony that was standing outside our door...WATCHING US SLEEP!

Friday, September 9, 2011

New uses for old meds

I had a dry patch on my chin for a few weeks and no matter what I used, it would not go away.  Finally, I found the miracle cure:  diaper cream!  Why would I put diaper cream on my face you ask...I say, why NOT? (I once had a co-worker tell me to take my baby's pee soaked diaper and wipe it on my face for a beautiful complexion...pee diaper? No. Diaper cream? Sure!) The diaper cream worked great and there is no more dry spot on my chin.

Modeling my mom's 1960's sunglasses, notice the dry patches.
Actually, I have a history of using creams/ointments that are meant for one type of ailment to cure something completely different.. My dive into pharmaceutical experimentation began when I was in grade school. I grew up in Kansas and we had a LOT of mosquitoes.  I fricking HATE mosquitoes.  HATE.  They hate me too...or love me.  They bite me more and I swear they make me itch more than anyone I know.  I also get giant welts from the little bastards.  Did I mention I hate them?
This is Luka's arm but mine look like this.  Not cool.
One summer when I was still in grade school I had been bitten into insanity.  I was determined to cure the painful itching, and calamine lotion was not cutting it.  I dug into my parents medicine cabinet and started to experiment.  I tried triple antibiotic ointment and all the usual suspects, nothing helped.  Then I picked up a small tube of ointment with a big "H" on it. was THAT "H".

Here is what it said:
  • Coats to prevent further irritation, itching and discomfort from hemorrhoids

  • Shrinks swollen hemorrhoidal tissue

  • Protects irritated hemorrhoidal tissue

  • Relieves external and intrarectal discomfort

  • Apply to the affected area up to 4 times daily, especially at night, in the morning or after each bowel movement. For Intrarectal Use: Before applying, remove protective cover from applicator. Attach applicator to tube. Lubricate applicator well, then gently insert applicator into the rectum. Thoroughly cleanse applicator after each use and replace protective cover. Also apply ointment to external area.
    I didn't know what rectums, hemorrhoids or bowl movements were and I was completely clueless about the word Intrarectal but it sounded perfect for a bunch of itchy mosquito bites.  It had an awesome applicator too!  It was a long tube with little holes all up and down so when you squeezed the tube the ointment came out like little happy worms!  Amazing right?!?!?   I was thrilled to take that tube and rub it all over my neck, arms and legs.  (What the hell?!?!?!)  It worked great.  I used up that whole tube (up to 4 times daily) and every time I used it, I was so excited to use that awesome applicator.  I took the empty tube and applicator to my mom and asked her why on earth she had not shared this secret mosquito bite ointment with me before....
    I honestly don't remember her response.  I only remember the overwhelming feeling of mortification. It has to be my most embarrassing memory ever (and I fell down an entire flight of bleachers at high school graduation).  Now-a-days I just use Off! and try to avoid the bites all together.  Even when I do get bitten I can't bring myself to use Preparation H, the memory is just too humiliating.