No one has ever, ever, ever said to me that I should be a nurse. When I was younger, my father had this insane idea that I would be an ophthalmologist, I guess the reasoning being that surely people who have eye surgery will grow up up wanting to inflict it on other people? I don't know. In any case, but it became clear pretty quickly that it was nevahevahgonnahappen, firstly because I am a FAINTER; secondly because I am not the type-A, competitive-studying, workaholic that it requires; and thirdly, because I am not what you would call nurturing. I am not UN-nurturing, and I don't lack empathy, but it's just not a trait that I ever really display. (At some point, my father started hoping I would become a lawyer. Poor guy. Eventually he'll get used to the fact that the golf-course retirement I promised him when I was five is probably never going to materialize.)
WHAT is the point of this, you might ask? Well, friends, this week I am playing nurse. My poor husband had a tonsillectomy/UPPP (because apparently he has giant freak-tonsils), and this equals a long, miserable, painful recovery. So my duty as wifey, which I gladly accept, is to be nurse-y. My job mostly consists of refilling the humidifier, administering pain meds in magic-red-liquid-form, pushing apple juice and jello, and attempting to come up with remotely tasty, non-acidic, non-sticky preparations of mushy ramen. I am honestly not-sucking at it, I think. I would say that perhaps my inner-nurse has come out of its dormant phase, but just the thought of actually looking at the healing tonsil-scars makes me pukish, so probably not.
But I digress. Or, am I disqualified from having digressed, because I was never on topic in the first place? Wow, I'm digressing again. Or for the first time. STOPIT.
Mug Rugs! KCMQG had a mug rug swap, and I didn't plan on doing it, because to me swaps = PRESSURE, but then I got my fabulous new feet, and I wanted to play around more with free-motion. So I made one in about an hour, and it was deeply satisfying though definitely not perfect.
I improvised. I am not a big improviser (to my shame!), but I did it. Woot.
2 comments:
The freakishly gianter the tonsils, the longer/more painful the recovery? I was unaware... I thought getting your tonsils out was supposed to be no big deal and then you ate a lot of ice cream and tried not to talk for a few days...... HM!
I am not a nurturer either, which is maybe even funnier since I have three kids. We do a lot of "brush it off, you're fine" kind of comforting, but I think this has worked to my/their benefit because my kids are not crazy criers. You know the kind. Anyway. I think I'm digressing now..... :)
I couldn't have a mug rug. As a spiller, it would be in the wash within two minutes.
Tonsillectomy requires gallons of ice cream. Nothing else will do.....
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