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.

This is my last week of my family medicine preceptorship (reflections to come), after which time I will be focusing on vacation preparation!!! We are all very excited.

Part of this preparation began with the end of spring semester. I believe I mentioned that my friend-study-workout-partner, Krystal, and I ferociously began Jillian Michaels’s 30 Day Shred. It is not a joke. With vacations and a few missed days in between, we decided to go some extra time and thus we technically are well past 30 days.

So despite a few misgivings, I took some “before” pictures. It was humbling. At the end of level 1, I took some progress pictures. I had made progress. Things were tighter, smaller, more proportional. I felt good. I felt strong. (Zoe was getting easier to carry longer distances – turns out, after her recent week-long stomach virus, she has lost 4 pounds…) I was on track to have wowza results in ample time to be fit as ever for our upcoming cruise and the big 3-0.

I honestly can say that I do not know what happened after that. When I really think about it, the only reasonable answer is lack of quality sleep to help my body recover. Whatever it is – I am more giant than when I began. Muscle weighs more than fat, retains water as it’s breaking and building, yadayadayada… This is little consolation to the girl in the mirror. Brain knows if I get the fat off, I have a good base of muscle, so that’s what I have to do, but damn if it isn’t super disappointing to work so hard and weigh more and not fit into clothes. I am stronger, so I can focus on that.

What’s funny to me is that – it turns out – this fat ass gets more attention. Today on my walks to and from the bus stops, I got 50% more honks than the thinner me used to. It’s such a shame to me that I’m on foot and they’re in fast vehicles – if only I could run fast enough to catch one of those superfly winners who can both honk AND whistle. I’ve put a lot of thought into scenarios in which I’m able to reach them, and for which one I would leave my husband and beautiful child. In the end, it doesn’t matter: either way, I’ll get a creative guy who is so overcome by attraction to the blur of girl-shaped mass sweating her way down the street that he must make this grand romantic gesture befitting a true lady. And that’s exactly what I want. Exactly.

Come a little closer. I’ve just disembarked the luxurious Metro bus, where I acquired a wide array of water-borne microbes due to my and every other passenger’s swack*. In fact, I’ve spent the past 60+ days sweating constantly – indoors, outdoors, no place is cool enough. Hot, right? Do you still want to honk? By all means.

I’ll tell anyone how much I love Houston. I really do. And it would be a great place to stay for residency in terms of the medicine I could see. But they say to pick a place based on location first – do you want to live there? I’m strongly considering limiting my search to more temperate, or even cooler, climates. That’s probably the summer sweats talking. On that note, I think I’ll go grab Zoe for our daily swim now.

*sweaty back. Thank you, Rachel Brady, for the rights to use this concept; its flexibility ensures a whole vocabulary worth of combinations, using any noun for which “sweaty” could be an adjective. Try it – you’ll see.

Last night we went to the Galleria to retrieve our reserved — for free — new spicy chicken sandwiches from Chick-fil-A. This was post-Zumba (my second killer sweaty powerhouse workout of the day), and I had been looking forward to this sandwich for a solid two weeks.

Excitedly I presented our printed reservation coupon things to the young man behind the counter. I asked that Joel‘s not have pickles. I ordered a four-pack of nuggets for the munchkin, in case the spiciness was too much to handle (it totally was). And a medium fry to share. And a cherry Coke. And a water.

“You only want the one drink? And one fry?” I was confused. Was he calling me cheap for getting three sandwiches on the house and only ordering three additional items?

“Well, I…”
“Because each sandwich comes with a drink.”
“OH!!! Great!!!” I ordered our drinks. “Two cherry cokes. And a pink lemonade for the girl. No! Wait! One cherry coke, one Barq’s, and the pink one.” I had decided to splurge and drink my soda. The freedom and choices overwhelmed me. The cashier — Calvin, my receipt tells me — seemed amused that this pleased me so.

“And so one fry?”
“I, well, we’ll share…” Calvin smiled again, about to deliver some additional wonderful news.
“Because each sandwich also comes with a medium fry.”

WHAT?! I’m certain my face revealed all of my true frugality and love of food at once.

Gleefully giggling as I handed over $1.57 in cash for the nuggets, my eyes widened at Joel, who, surprisingly, also looked excited.

The sandwiches were tasty. Spicy. Very, very spicy. Midway through my sammich, Joel asked the question to which I’m sure everyone is waiting with baited breath to hear the answer: Would I order this over anything else on the menu and pay for it?

Not if I were sharing it with either Joel or Zoe. It’s too spicy for that. But on my own, in the mood for something spicy, yes. Yes, I would. Now, I do have a suggestion, Chick-fil-A: make some extra dough and offer not cheese, but heart-healthy and cooling avocado (or guacamole) as an extra. I think you’ll find people thrilled with this option.

All told, our discount was $18.87. Spectacular.

Do you want my happiness? Go reserve yours now – offer ends June 5.

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.

When I was practicing for my comprehensive physical exam for class, she was my willing patient many, many times, so she picked up a few things. (I’m fairly confident she could do the full exam, and she clearly has down the blood pressure, deep tendon reflexes, heart, lung and belly sounds, eyes and ears, and Babinski testing.) Here’s how it goes when we pretend for a focused exam and she’s the doctor:

Z: [knock, knock, knock]
B: Come in!
Z: Hellooooo! How are you today? What’s going on?
B: (I explain an injury or complaint.)
Z: Oh! Okay. Let me wash my hands right away and take a look. [She washes her hands thoroughly and reaches out to shake my hand.] I’m Doctor Zoe. Okay. Now. Okay. Let me see. Mmmhmm. Okay. You’ll need a shot. And a sticker. And here’s your lollipop.

So for posterity, her stats are as follows:

Height: 35 7/8 inches (25th percentile); “The doctor says I’m growing very well and very tall.”
Weight: 32 pounds (50th percentile); (How long until I can’t post her weight?)
And according to her school report, she’s excelling by standards for someone almost a year older than she is. Not to brag or anything. Maybe a little bit.

The sweet little bug thanked me several times over the next two days for going to the doctor with her. No shots were sustained, only because I didn’t have a copy of her shot record with me (still need to go get that… Mama oops, but it just has to be done sometime in the next year), much to her relief, though that appears to be her panacea, especially when coupled with a sticker.

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.