There had been no time for dinner before we left, as we decided at the last minute to go, but I was super hungry. It smelled like the State Fair of Texas and I wanted it all. After rationalizing that my muffin top finally seems to have shrunk just recently, I decided there would be little harm in sharing some fries with the fam. One hundred dollars later, I had some fries. Zoe and Joel ate 98% of them I think, though Zoe used them only as a vessel for ketchup, which she would drink if I weren’t so disgusted by it.

Joel had gotten Zoe some pink cotton candy (-I know-) and later some ice cream in a pink helmet as a bribe so he could see the whole game. It was something we all were excited about, as we have fond memories of helmet ice cream in our youth. In an unfortunate turn of evens, the concessionaires had exhausted their pink strawberry ice cream supply by the 7th inning. Zoe balked and grumbled and squnched up her face and refused to eat the inferior treat, thus the whole experience was soured. Until we sat down, and things were looking up for the helmet ice cream. She ate a few bites, managing to drip vanilla Blue Bell and chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles all over her Dad, perhaps in some twisted attempt at retribution for buying the one hundred dollar ice cream that was NOT pink. She remembered it was not pink in between each bite, and finally decided that yes, it WAS horrible that the ice cream was not pink, and no, it was NOT fixed by the pinkness of its bowl, the helmet. Couple that with the fact that the playground to which she was ushered during a span of short attention was also temporarily closed, and her report when we got in the car to go home was, “Mama, I had a bad day.” She did get pushed today at school in my presence. I shamed little Jeffrey for pushing at all, and a girl at that. He seemed to feel no remorse. So I’ll grant that parts of her day did not go her way, but we’ll be working on her attitude.

We all were exhausted by the time we got home, and Zoe fell asleep shortly after. Finally I could assuage my growling barely-lunch-no-dinner-barely-snack tummy with a delicious concoction of Texas peaches (the very, very best – I thank my generous grandparents for introducing me to their magic early and often), frozen blueberries, rice puffins, and coconut milk yogurt. It is a lovely midnight dinner.

But not inexplicable. I have been busy. COMPLETING MY FIRST YEAR! Finally. Jeez.

After more than a few tense moments, I can say with confidence that I will begin second year in August. I’m really excited. And in a couple of weeks, I’m starting my preceptorship with a family physician; I’m looking forward to that as well.

Since I took my last exam I’ve spent a lot of time hanging out with the fam. Zoe is sweeter than ever. This weekend she had her very first recital.

Adorable, yes? Our little ballerina. Forgive the early cutoff – I had to cheer loudly for my tiny dancer.

Does it get any better than this?

All of her grandparents (and everyone else in spirit!) cheered her on, showered her with post-performance flowers, and generally made a large fuss, which she loved. I must admit I wasn’t sure how the whole thing would go, given that we missed the dress rehearsal. But she was so excited to be on stage, and we were so proud of her – she just shined up there. I believe a star was born.

Other excitement has included time to straighten things around here. I still have plenty to do, of course. It’s a project. Speaking of straight… I also became free of my braces! I only had them for ten months, and they came off last Thursday. No real pictures yet, much to my sister’s dismay, though I did send her one… But I’m sure they’re coming. So far I’ve had to tell most people that they’re off, which makes me think I should have been less self-conscious all along – though I really like having straight teeth.

I also started Jillian Michaels’s 30 Day Shred. Krystal and I are on day 6, officially. I started a couple of days before to see how it was, then I took a day off to do Zumba. It’s kicking our asses; I feel stronger and better. Now to get my diet polished…

That hardly covers two months. So I’ll sum up the time before the last ten days or so: I was studying. Now to live it up during my last summer ever!

It’s easy for a household to fill up a dishwasher every other day, if not daily. My parents would set the dishwasher to run in the evening after we were in bed or at least heading there. Laundry, in my memory, was done on the weekends, in the background of a still day, and the peaceful contrast of quiet after a good vacuuming always gave me a little zen.

I pinpointed recently that I associate the lulling, cleansing sound of the dishwasher with cleared, clean counters in the kitchen; calm, quiet, and bedtime.

Perhaps this is why I get a little ragey when these things are not done, or done in a frenzy. The noise is too much. Picture rush hour: too many cars, too many ads on the radio, too much glare from a sun threatening to set. Keys clanging, whiny pets with full bladders, fussy children because it’s just that time, cranky adults from a day of idiots and studying that still needs to happen. Meal preparation, evening television, phone calls/texts. Run the dishwasher now and you’ll be yelling over a hundred other noises just to ask a simple question. Right now, if the laundry room door is open and I hear the button on those jeans clank one more time, I’ll think only of the folding I have to do later and why, oh why, are the last three loads still on the love seat? When the buzzer goes off, it will sound to me like an angry driver laying into his horn. If central air comes on now, I will think about how it’s getting warmer and something really must be done about the summer electric bill.

These machinery whirs of modern living can be overwhelming amidst the daytime chaos. But at night everything changes. We’re in pajamas. There are just a few, unimpeded cars traveling in their luxurious lanes. When the dishwasher runs at night, the kitchen is closed except for nightstand water cup refills. The dryer is rhythmic. The fridge hums, and central air promises homeostasis. These are our urban crickets.

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”.

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.

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?!)

Thank you, Julie, for the pretty edit!

It occurred to me then and occurs to me now as I upload to Flickr the few pictures from my trip that our agenda had much to do with food. I am a gastrotourist. What do people do if not go from eatery to eatery? This is not to say that we ate a lot. We ate a rather conservative amount, and surprisingly, the only things we bought at any of the cupcake shops were not cupcakes – Amanda got Zoe a Magnolia “I (cupcake) NY” shirt, and at Crumbs we got coffee. Otherwise we just smelled. Anyway perhaps because of my fugness with the braces, or so I didn’t look like SUCH a tourist, I didn’t take many pictures, and the majority of the ones I did take are of food. Tickle me fat.

Now we did get one of each of the Levain cookie flavors and shared them over two days. For all the hubbub in the baking blogger community over these cookies, I must say my expectations were a little high. They were super yummy cookies, and definitely inspirational in terms of cloning efforts, but now that I’ve had one part of four, I think I can put the fascination to rest.

We walked several miles per day, seeing the sites. I loved the subway, as I always have been fascinated with mass transit. As for the cabs, I never did fear for my life, and I found at least one of the cabbies to be extremely pleasant. Amanda’s roommate’s boyfriend’s birthday was Saturday, so Friday night we made him a cake. I say we, but really it was Amanda; my contribution was to color frosting and fondant, eat cake scraps, and get in the way. But I’m glad she tolerated me, because I love to be in the kitchen with her.

We also got to catch up with Duke over some delicious fancy pizza before we headed to Chelsea Market and shopped. Everyone should have a Duke hug at least once a year. Saturday the aforementioned birthday boy was celebrating at Central Park with a softball game, so we spent some time there. I loved the park. The grass felt like heaven’s carpet on our tired feet, and I enjoyed meeting Amanda’s friends.

We met another of Amanda’s friends from work later for dinner. We stumbled upon a Middle Eastern restaurant with delicious gyros. The original plan was to end up at Pommes Frites, but we were so full that we got them to go and continued walking. I had seen these Belgian fries featured on the Food Network years ago and decided I must have them some day. After fatting around at home for a little bit, we decided to catch the night’s last showing of 500 Days of Summer. I recommend it – very cute and clever.

Saturday night/Sunday morning saw a very heavy storm, which was great for sleeping. When we got up, we found a street fair and falafel, walked through Times Square, and then on to Levain Bakery. More walking and shopping, dinner at a very lovely and tasty Thai place, followed by Julie and Julia, which was great. I am now as in love with Julia Child as my Dad has professed as long as I’ve known him. She was the only woman for whom my Mom gave him a pass. After the movie we scooted in the door of Tasti D-lite with a minute to spare before they closed.

Monday after Amanda left for work, I piddled around, just walking wherever I decided to go, ducking into shops and delighting in the fact that the streets are laid out such that even a geographically challenged bumpkin such as myself can navigate them without too much hassle. I wish I had 1. seen my cousin and his girls, 2. seen my friend who just moved there, 3. seen the World Trade Center memorial, and 4. walked to the edge of the island to see the ocean. But I ran out of time before I headed to Amanda’s work to meet for lunch. Always leave something to see on the next trip, right? We ate where she eats most days, Digby’s, whose iced hazelnut coffee is commendable.

After that Amanda got me into the MoMA before heading back to work. I shuffled about, sort of half-heartedly looking at drawings and artifacts and generally being a little blah, probably because I was leaving. I shaped up when I realized HEY, YOU’RE STILL HERE, and decided to see what I love – painting and sculpture, which were upstairs. I’m so glad I did. Without sounding too cheesy, I was moved. Even with a lot of people around, it felt calm in there, and I was able to focus on things and be excited without feeling ADD about it.

After a little more shopping, I went up to Amanda’s office with cute pictures on her desk, and then we walked home to get ready to leave. She walked me to the subway – goodbyes are hard – and I did my first truly embarrassing, idiotic thing of the trip. I wedged myself and my luggage in the turnstile and missed the window for turning it to get through. Ah, well. AirTrain, JFK, and JetBlue – check, thumbs up, for the most part.

Of course along the way were sister chats and the delicious worst of TV (Toddlers and Tiaras, for one). New York is a pretty amazing place with a lot to see and do. I continue to be impressed at Amanda’s gumption, her move to Manhattan, and how she acclimated so quickly and so well. I can’t wait to visit again, and thank you to my parents for the funds and encouragement.

So I’m really glad I got to go on that trip before school starts. Which is Monday. I think the anxiety about that peaked yesterday, and now I’m just focused on being prepared. Instead of “Don’t eff it up” on a hamster wheel in my head, I’m trying to tell myself, “You can do this!” Cognitive behavioral therapy for the win. I hope.

MyHeritage: Family trees – Genealogy – Celebrities – Collage – Morph

(Thanks, Carol!)