Finding my groove

Forgive me for the lack of blog energy recently. I am settling in to my new routine, and learning to find a time for cleaning the house, folding the laundry, and wiping jam off of sticky fingers while squeezing in some sleep from time to time has been an adjustment. Just keeping my house from looking like a disaster zone is practically a full-time job all by itself.

Did I ever tell you about how we have absorbed two additional house guests over the last couple of weeks? Plus an additional dog? (I bet the German neighbors are over the moon about that one.)  It's true. We finally convinced my parents that they needed a different house for their older, bigger family. Their home sold muy rapido (which is a good thing!) but it left most of my family essentially homeless until the short sale they are purchasing is approved. We've enjoyed the extra help that my two sisters provide. We've also been surprised at how many more dishes and laundry and just stuff that two more people generate.

So anyway, what I'm trying to say is that it's been a learning curve around here.

Have I mentioned how much I am LOVING the chance to wipe the sticky jam fingers? I am with my little Bug-face from the moment she wakes up every day until about an hour before she goes to bed for the night, and it is WONDERFUL.

The new gig is pretty great, too. I am finding my own rhythm and starting to put names and faces together, which is always half the battle. (Never thought I'd be so grateful for mandatory name badges!) The best part of my job is the variety-- the absolute unpredictability of what each night will bring. I know I've said it before, but there's simply no other accurate way to phrase it: you just can't make this stuff up.

On any given evening, I may find myself with my face buried in the DSM IV trying to remember how to accurately score a person's functioning. I am just as likely to find myself gowned and gloved digging through cut clothing to identify a new trauma patient, or, most likely, dashing back and forth between the two. Twenty-seven-olution or not, heels are not an option at this job.

And here's the thing about being a working mother: yesterday, I was very literally running from the physician workroom to my office and in and out of patient rooms when I found myself humming a cheerful little tune to myself.

It was the "Thank You" song from Bug's Little People Happy Birthday dvd.

I was right. 2011 is awesome.