Last Friday we headed to the Great White North – Dallas had claimed a record 12 inches of snow – to visit Grandma Shirley and Uncle Dan who were in town from Minnesota; as a result, Zoe had eight grown people to fawn over her in person this year, and even more by phone, mail, and Internet. Saturday Zoe experienced the rare powdery snow, frolicking, throwing snowballs, building a small snowman, and exclaiming, “I just LOVE the snow of winter!” (There’s video – to be uploaded.) In the evening, Grandma took all of us to Kona Grill to celebrate the many February birthdays, and it was delicious as always. Sunday we had a Hello Kitty mini-extravaganza to celebrate, and I think she enjoyed herself. (See Flickr for pictures of the weekend and Zoe’s first experience with real snow.)

The birthdays are getting more fun each year. This time she talked about it for a week before and has relived it this week as well. On Friday she had her school birthday party, and it was so cute to see her with her friends. (Pictures to come.)

At three years old, she goes by many names, and whenever we call her a nickname or adjective, we get, “I’m not ________; I’m just Zoe!” Occasionally she adds, “Z.O.E. Zoe! That’s my name!” Some examples to fill the blank:

• munchkin
• sweetie
• pants (fancy pants, sassy pants, Zoepants)
• house ape
• ladies
• baby
• little girl
• silly
• Miss Priss
• lovely
• pumpkin
• precious

Of course she is growing so quickly and getting even better by the day. She knows what she wants and likes, and when we have clashes of wills, I remind myself that this feisty spirit will be a source of strength in her life. Just when I think there is no way she could be any sweeter or cuter, she outdoes herself, repeatedly. I’m glad she knows who she is and how to spell her name and speak her mind. She is smart, funny, grateful, empathic, creative, energetic, smiley, confident, thoughtful, strong-willed, cuddly, and helpful. I’m proud of the little person she is and her sparkling personality. I love everything about her, from her wild, untamable curls to her pink painted toenails.

She is spectacular. And yet so humble. Because she would say she’s “just Zoe”.

But not today. No. Today they were 1. out of non-dairy creamer, and – what’s worse – 2. completely unapologetic about it. In addition, 3. their potato tacos, which most days are worthy of high praise, were not hot. And by hot I mean temperature, which is all the more important now that I’m more aware of what bugs may lurk in less-than-hot food. Thus they have been sacked. This was just the thing I needed to get myself out of bed earlier to make my own breakfast. Maybe now I’ll get to the bus on time.

First, a little background.

Overall Block I exams went alright but, as usual, less well than I had hoped. The quickness and the breadth of material, especially for immunology, got the better of me, and while I held it together fairly well (i.e., I only called my sister in tears once and threatened to quit via no more than four texts), by Friday I was sure that after turning in my micro test I would walk over one building and check myself in, either at Hermann for exhaustion/septic strep (I lost my voice during the week) or at the Harris County psych ward. Not to be dramatic or anything.

Friday night I ended up doing my post exams routine of cleaning and attempting to prepare ourselves for a nice weekend at home without staring at a couch full of laundry or a pile of dishes or lying around on dog-hair-carpet. Because that’s how we roll most days. (I’ve learned to let it go, superficially, until I have time to deal with it, but deep down it’s still on my hamster wheel of concerns.)

I was excited to retrieve Zoe, who was in excellent spirits after school. The evening was pleasant and uneventful, and we went to bed late, in my hopes of sleeping late.

Saturday, 7 AM: Zoe is awake, for good, and she wants to “watch a few shows”. I oblige and return to sleep; when she gets cranky, Joel sweeps her away so I can rest. I am grateful. A few minutes of light sleep later, I tire of hearing her protests and requests for me, and I stomp out grumpily, and we begin our day of nothing. Glorious nothing. We played play-doh, watched shows, napped, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. At 6 PM we ventured out on some errands: Goodwill donating, recycling, and groceries. Across from the recycling center was a Chick-Fil-A, and Zoe excitedly requested dinner there. It was delicious, and she loved playing on the playground with a rambunctious young chap called Ian, or Phillip, or Bill. NOT Kevin, NOT Steven, which he thought Zoe was saying, which she wasn’t. Target was a blast, and we saved 10% with coupons = bonus.

Sometime around 3 AM we were awakened by a Zoe in mild distress. I’m not sure how we knew, because she wasn’t making much noise. Joel figured out that she was lying on her back and pointing to her mouth, which was piled high with vomit. The poor baby. We cleaned her up, stripped the bed, decided she needed a full bath, did that, and got her all ready for bed again. Laundry was begun, and into clean sheets we went. Less than half an hour later, we repeated the whole thing, with the variation that the vomit landed almost entirely on my person, and the two of us took a shower. Putting our last set of sheets on the bed, we decided to put a few extra blankets below Zoe and to keep a pan by the bed.

She learned quickly, warning us when she would vomit in time to place the pan, keeping us updated with, “Here it comes… I have more… I’m almost done…” I was aching for her and so proud of her at the same time. And so it went throughout the night and next day. The laundry never ceased. Despite her illness, she remained in good spirits while awake, though mostly she slept. Family required status reports, particularly my squeamish-only-when-it-comes-to-vomit sister, whose fascination/repulsion necessitates description of the quantity and quality. This provided much comic relief to me, as did Zoe’s comments. After a Dora popsicle: “Hey! Pink throw up!” Apropos of nothing: “Mom? Throwing up is not fun.”

Sunday night went a little better, with evidence that whatever-it-was was moving down the GI tract. I’ll spare you the details except to say that the laundry.continued.all.night. The last incident for which I was present occurred at 5:30 AM before my alarm went off at 6 AM. Joel kept her at home on Monday, which I am so grateful he can do. I trudged off to school, embittered that my post-exam “relaxation” and “preparation for block 2″ weekend was neither of those things, and I began yet another block completely exhausted. A bright spot in the day: Joel texted me with a Zoe quote that I will hover for you in order to protect her privacy somewhat. Hilarious.

Amidst the chaos, there were many moments like that, actually. She’s amazing. And we’ve learned some things, mostly that we should get a plastic sheet.

Now it’s Wednesday, and perhaps for the best, I have forgotten most of the things that inspired my irritation and grumbling and today’s post’s title. I do recall that I broke yet another backpack. And that I missed my morning bus by 30 seconds, thus missing my first class which turned out to be quite important, setting me behind before I even started. Dispersed throughout the day were various and sundry instigators, coming full circle with missing my evening bus, only after running for it like a total moron with my two bags of 70+ pounds of crap, arriving at the bus door only to remain unseen by the driver and amuse the other waiting bus patrons with my misfortune. And THEN I studied while waiting for the next one, putting away my materials when I expected it to arrive, only to wait an additional half hour because for some reason, it never came.

I know these things seem small. But in aggregate… wasting my time and feeling behind already and suffering a severe sleep and mental stamina deficit… It was a little much.

Plus I’m really over my commute.

Long story short, I’m quite difficult to live with. And I’m sorry about the preposition there. I know I have several balls in the air, none of which I’m prepared to let drop, though they have been pruned in the past year. I have to work on grace, and on the schedule and routine. One might say I am hell bent on implementing some consistency, ideally for the whole family, and at least for myself. I did order a new backpack, so instead of hauling around my pigpen in multiple bags like a hobo, I can run for the bus in a streamlined fashion.

“Activities are endless, like ripples on a stream.
They end only when you drop them.
Human moods are like the changing highlights and shadows on a sunlit mountain range.
All activities are like the games children play, like castles being made of sand.
View them with delight and equanimity, like grandparents
overseeing their grandchildren or a shepherd
resting on a grassy knoll watching over his grazing flock.”
- Nyoshul Khenpo Rinpoche

Also, I passed the rest of my tests, though I want to work harder for the next block.

Perhaps the most pervasive thing about having failed… repeatedly… is that even the smallest success feels uncomfortable. Even with a little confidence back, there’s this incredulous feeling when I get something right, and then I double check it, thinking, “Surely there must be some mistake.” Or when I say something aloud that makes sense, my brain says, “Are you sure? That sounds like something a smart person would say – you probably better backpedal or something.” Messed up, right?!

And it doesn’t just apply to school. When Zoe seems well-adjusted or does something reflecting her obvious brilliance, or if I’ve completed a workout, gotten to bed on time, checked things off my to-do list, or made an especially great cookie… It’s like “Once in a Lifetime” by Talking Heads. “How did I get here?… This is not my beautiful [life].”

I have to keep reminding myself that we are what we do. I’m a mom to a beautiful child. I’m in medical school, and I will be a doctor. In August I decided these things, that it was a matter of when, not if. It is just taking a little longer than I would have expected to condition myself. I need to be comfortable with that and act the part – no, BE the part. And really it isn’t up to anyone else. I’ve sat around wishing I were this way or that way, and really except for a few physical impossibilities, I can be whatever, however, whoever I want.* Once I’ve done something consistently, I am that way. Make good grades – you make good grades. Be a good mom – you’re a good mom.

On that note, I’m headed for a run. I run.

*I recognize that there are many, many things in place that allow me this freedom.

“I think it would be a mistake… as one might charitably describe us as… ‘barely keeping it afloat’. I agree with your sentiment, and it would be great if something like that were feasible.”

During the unrelated argument we later had, we wondered if maybe the child would prefer his or her current situation to any tumultuous craziness here. Amidst a heated debate over whether or not unintentionally forgetting to start the washer full of peed-upon sheets (thanks, Zoe) was a cardinal sin, there was some mention of the unavailability of pain medication stronger than ibuprofen for life-saving limb amputations. For some this sobering fact might have put things in perspective long enough to acknowledge the ridiculous pettiness of the original offense. (Though, for completeness, it did neither in that moment nor for at least an hour.) In the end we decided that he or she would be sleeping happily like Zoe was, and thus unaware of said argument, so that was moot. Now the waking crazy… Time will tell. Zoe will let us and/or her therapist(s) know how that turns out.

Anyway, while the idea came from a real place and a deep ache for the people experiencing horrendous tragedy, obviously there are more effective ways for us to help the world in our own way. As happens with any acute awareness of a particular catastrophe, the cascade begins and I’m reminded of all the things that need fixing. Add that to my two months and counting stint of listening to NPR instead of Top 40 while I get ready in the morning (meaning I now get 15 minutes of news instead of whatever gets filtered to me from Joel), plus my two main lunch time lecture series: one on health care reform and another on serving the homeless population, and there’s a bangin’ pity/outrage/inspiration party. Everyone’s invited. Sigh.

Meanwhile I’m doing what I hope is a step toward my part of it: studying. The first block of exams begins Tuesday – but then you knew that, because I’m writing again . I love my classes, particularly neuroscience and neuroanatomy lab. Micro has potential. Last semester’s knowledge is coming in handy (even that bitch biochem, though don’t tell her I said that). I’ve grown fonder of the classmates I already liked, met a few more who didn’t repulse me, and had my initial opinions confirmed on a few. So it’s somewhere between a wash and an ever-so-slight incline on the class personality front. I managed not to spazz during my last few standardized patient encounters. A little confidence goes a long way, and I get that from practice and preparation. (P, p, p. Too much Dr. Seuss. Which I would like to read to a Haitian orphan before bed. NOW who can’t complete a thought?!)

In 2009, I gained a little more confidence in what I’m doing as a student, a mother, and a person in general, a new apartment, and a whole lotta knowledge that I didn’t learn last year.

I lost about 8 pounds (net, gross was about 16), three pets (Amanda’s Kiddn from our childhood, Sophie and Sarge to different homes), some volume on that nagging voice inside my head that was saying I can’t do it.

I stopped eating mammals.

I started back to med school again.

I was hugely satisfied by my first block study habits and healthy withdrawal from timesuck activities.

And frustrated by balancing my responsibilities.

I am so embarrassed that I had to take a leave of absence and do the whole first semester again. (But I believe I may have mentioned that.)

Once again, I tried to cut back on sweets (with some success…).

Once again, I let myself get distracted.

The biggest physical difference between me last December and this December is I have braces and much straighter teeth.

The biggest psychological difference between me last December and this December is I’m less concerned with what others think and more accepting of who I am.

I loved cuddling on the Cozy Sac with Zoe.

Why did I spend even two minutes feeling not good enough? (Borrowed from Noisiest Passenger.)

I should have spent more time exercising, playing music, volunteering, writing, and sleeping (anything but worrying basically).

I regret spending about eight months of my life wallowing instead of making the best of things.

I will never regret quality time spent with Zoe.

I was self-absorbed way too much.

I didn’t sleep nearly enough.

Parenting a two-year-old nearly drove me crazy.

The most relaxing place I went was the pool when I went by myself.

Why did I waste so much time?

The best thing I did for someone else was listen.

The best thing I did for myself was taking steps to improve my mental health and going back to school.

The best thing someone did for me was figuratively smack some sense into me.

The one thing I’d like to do again, but do it better, is parent Zoe. (That’s one of many.)

Happy New Year.

(Fill-in-the-blank template from Mary Schmich at The Chicago Tribune)

Until then, I’m really enjoying this break. Happy holidays!

The third block of tests went pretty well. I did better on everything but anatomy, which I felt I had to sacrifice in favor of biochem, to stay out of the danger zone. I’m proud to say that I had the wiggle room to do that. Ideally I’d honor everything and not play the game like that, but we do what we have to do. If I get a chance to talk with 2008 Blake, I’ll tell her to go ahead and do the alternate pathway the school offers and save herself a lot of misery.

I’ve been and will continue to be candid in my opinion of my fellow MS1s, and at this point in the year, I can say to my class (as if they would even care) that on the whole, I do not love you. But I have grown accustomed to your face. It may be that my first love’s shoes are just too large to fill. So I’m not ruling out that with time we may develop a friendship, and I’ll take responsibility for my role, what with the antisocialness. I actually had someone to whom I had introduced myself the first week and chatted with on multiple occasions, when I ran into him and asked how he was, say, “I’m sorry – are you in our class?” Wow.

I want to do a better job of balancing in the coming months. Mostly I feel like I have so much on my plate that I can’t be the friend I want to be to anyone new, and I am so uncomfortable not being able to give my part. Once I’m keeping the family, school, and sanity plates spinning, we’ll see what happens.

Last year I made lots of friends and very poor grades. This year I kept my head down to survive, making the grades but very few friends. Those friends – notably my tank mates and last year’s repeaters – have been essential, by the way, and I know it. While I may sound like a high school drama queen, ranking my “peers” in niceness and other criteria, it’s important to me to be a part of my class and feel like we have a common goal. Because this road is too long and difficult to go it alone. I think most people want to have camaraderie in their careers, and in the team-oriented field of medicine it seems especially important. I chose to pursue this path after a life-changing experience and deep, deep introspection. I want to help people, and I’d like to think that’s a pretty standard answer among people entering medicine. I find it hard to believe that anyone would choose it solely because of an ability to make good test scores or a desire for prestige and income (because believe me – those last two are not compelling – or even realistic, anymore – reasons). So I’m making it part of my education to figure out some of what makes the people around me tick. It has been less evident with this group than with last year’s, but absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, right? I’ll find their souls.

All I have left now are two finals: devo and anatomy, and Friday I am a free woman for a few weeks. Amanda is spending the holidays with us here in Houston, and I can hardly contain myself! This break should be a good chance to catch up on the things I’ve been missing since August. Writing, organizing, music-making, and working on my fitness are a few. I want to start something: most nights, in addition to reading to Zoe, I want us to write just a little blurb about the day or what’s going on. We were doing that for her the first year, and then we got busy and abandoned it in favor of easier, less mentally taxing things, like taking pictures. Now my camera’s broken. But we can still write, and now she can participate. Anyway that’s a goal.

Alright. Back to the studies, for just a few more days!

Thank you, Julie, for the pretty edit!