Monthly Archives: April 2012

Today, My Captain dragged me kicking and screaming to the Fire Academy for the Medic Recert class, as I told you in ~Medic Refresher~.

I didn’t want to be there.

The class started.  We were reviewing Pediatric Protocols.

I REALLY didn’t want to be there.

Pediatric Protocols are difficult because so much about it is dependant on weight and exact age.  It is the hardest of all the protocols medics must know.  And they have to KNOW it firmly, because, well, of the time-sensitive nature of emergencies!  But there are so many pediatric rules with exceptions, that the term ‘exception’ is pointless.   And, actually, it can be so complicated, it’s very challenging.

I love a good challenge.

I started not minding being there so much.

My brain began chugging along, slowly at first, but then picked up speed.  It was all gradually coming back to me.

I didn’t feel quite as intimidated as I had when the class started.

Some of the medics in the class were cracking jokes.  Funny jokes.

I began to enjoy being there.

My curiosity on some of the new protocols piqued, and I asked questions….good questions, and was excited to hear the answers.

I was so glad I was there, and remembered WHY I became a medic in the first place.

Now I am not so sure I want to just “let it go”.   I had forgotten how much I loved the challenge of it.

Which means, My Captain was right.

Again.

Dammit.

My Captain won’t let me quit EMS.  He thinks I’ve worked too hard to become a medic and my decision to let it go doesn’t sit well with him.

I told him I don’t like it.

I told him I’m not good at it.

I told him I don’t want the stress it induces.

He tells me I AM good at it.

But he can’t argue the other two.  And frankly, he has never been on an EMS call with me.   I think he is confusing medical ability with marital love.  But that’s just me being practical.

I flip-flop.  Believe me, no one knows better than me how much time and sacrifice I put into becoming a medic.  Especially with two munchkins in tow.  And I do love helping people in need.  The mother, the nurturer in me feels entirely fulfilled when I am giving comfort. And yes, if I thought of it as throwing all that time and effort away, he would be right: it would be a tragedy.

But I don’t see it that way.  I see it as moving on.  Starting a new chapter.  Continuing down the road of my life.

He listened.

And then he signed me up for our mandated periodic Medic Continuing Education courses.

Do you think anyone will say anything tomorrow when they see him dragging me down the hall of the Fire/Rescue Academy kicking and screaming?

Nah.  You’re right, probably not.

***sigh***

Pray for me.

I was raised in Ohio, but to say I am a country girl would be, uh, not correct.  Still, in middle school we did devote a week of Phys Ed to Square Dancing.  I haven’t done so since.

Until last night!

(Begin playing banjo music in the background)

The Poolesville United Methodist Church was putting on a square dance as a fund-raiser.  It sounded like an unusual evening to me, and I was ripe for an unusual evening.  I begged My Captain to take me.   I don’t know if he has known me long enough now to be able to discern the I’m-Not-Going-To-Quit-Asking tone in my voice, or if I’ve simply broken him, but he agreed.

Now, why didn’t it occur to me to think “or he just loves me that much and wants to make me happy.” as an option?   Some things are better unanswered.

So I put on a ruffled skirt.

Let me just say at this point that fat women should avoid ruffles whenever possible.  Thank you.

As I was saying, I put on a ruffled skirt, My Captain put on one of his way, way cool Western Weave shirts from The Territory Ahead, and away we went.

(But first we stopped at McDonald’s because they were having a 2 for 1 sale on Big Macs, and even though I am already fat, the Scottish in me just can’t pass up a bargain.   So sue me.  Mine was yummy, and his was free.  Ha.)

I knew we were in for a treat when the normally staid brick entrance to the church was decorated with plastic wagon wheels and colorful bandanas:

and inside were hay bales, cowboy hats,

and some kind of party-like barbed wire.  Who knew barbed-wire could be so playful???

I certainly didn’t.  But I have to admit, it DID add to the festive country/western spirit of the gig.

There was a ton of food on tables to be sampled…everything from cracker munchies to herbed cheese and walnut stuffed endives.  Quite the mish mash of Americana!  I LOVED it!

And there were a bunch of cakes that got given away during cake-walks.  We didn’t participate, because I’m strong-willed like that.  (Or because we came in late. I forget which.)

There was an honest to goodness licensed square dance caller at the mic.  I didn’t even know they could get licensed, but he did, and they a-hired him!  I fell in love with him almost immediately because he made everyone feel comfortable with this unfamiliar thing we were doing.  And he was as kind and genuine as you could imagine.  His name is Charlie Packard:

And he was full of old school charm, I promise you.  If My Captain had not been so dashing….I don’t know… I am such a sucker for old-fashioned.  Charlie was certainly that.   Look at what he played all the dance music on:

An Honest To Goodness 45 turntable!  It was SO COOL!  Whenever I heard the needle do that scratchy thing when he started a song, I was launched way back to my childhood.

Now as for the dancing….

It turns out that not only do I have two left feet, I also have two left arms.  Whenever our square of 8 people got all discombobulated, it was usually me in the middle going, “Uhhhhh….”

My Captain would chuckle, and nudge me the right direction…a couple of times he yanked me the right direction…and once he pushed me (lovingly) at the guy ‘on my corner’.  If you’ve ever met me, you know I’m not a petite little thing.  My Captain had to work.  But God Bless Him, he Do-Si-Doed me and Promenaded me like a real western gentleman.  I felt VERY feminine, even in my clumsy attempts at dancing.

He didn’t have to come.  He really didn’t.  But the fact that he did, and without mocking me or snickering at my mistakes, or rolling his eyes made me love him even more.

If that is possible.

We’ve received some fantastic entries for the moose naming contest!  If you haven’t sent in your idea for a name, do so before midnight tonight.  The winner will receive a home-made batch of my famous Turbo-Rum Balls.  (Must be 21 to enter!)

The winner will be announced tomorrow night.

Not sure what the heck I’m talking about?  Go to Moose Naming Contest and find out!

Good luck!

Love,

Mama B.

While doing laundry today, I came across a button down shirt I had worn a couple of days ago.  It made me close my eyes for a brief moment and sigh.

Clothes do that to you when you’re pre-menopausal.

You see, I was sighing because the last time I wore it, I was out to lunch with my family feeling fine and dandy, having a grand ol’ time, when I dropped food.

Of course, I dropped food onto my shirt in the boobie-region.  As you know from stories past, I have a habit of doing that.

Rubbing it with my napkin only made it worse (it was an oil-based salad dressing), and by that time any possibility of my actions going un-noticed was shot to hell.

Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to be the fat chick at the table and to be found trying to remove food from your clothing?  It drives home the fact that you eat with such wild abandon, the food flies like shrapnel.

So I’m rubbing pointlessly at the spot when I realize that the shirt is so tight it’s gaping between the button holes.

Not in the boobie-region, where I would feel pride about it.

But in the tire region, where I do NOT feel pride about it.

I have noticed, sadly, that those two regions are not as far apart as they used to be.

Anyways, I stopped rubbing the spot on my shirt.  Now I didn’t want to get rid of it…I wanted it to remain as a distraction from the fat-gap.

See, I’m always thinkin’.  Stick with me, I’ve got a million genius tips like this to share.