There are plenty of things to obsess about. Like how we are going to manage daycare next year, who I'm going to find to mentor my resident research project, and that Survivor starts this next week.
One of the things that I don't obsess about at all are my blog numbers. The number of followers (although all are welcome and enjoyed), the number of visitors, the number of hits.
But I'll be honest, I do love the key words on my Goggle Analytics.
It's always interesting (and occasionally confusing) to see how people come across my neck of the woods, so to speak. For example...
"Boys don't appreciate swimming"
Well, if you just throw them in the deep end, it's true. They don't. They also don't really appreciate a kiddy pool in the backyard full of ice cold water from the hose. (Although, I assure you, none of those occurrences have ever been documented here.) What's with kids these days?
"Why I hate Wuthering Heights"
I don't know why you do. And I don't think you found anything here to add to your dislike. Although my mom hates it too. You should talk.
"Just walk it out"
It's true, this would probably work. It worked as a child. At least that's what we would tell each other when we fell off the roof or out of the tree that we had explicitly been told to stay away from by our parents. I wonder why I don't use this more often.
"Closet optimist"
If you're truly looking for a closet optimist, you'll have to look else where. I am a self-proclaimed, rose-colored glasses, glass-half-full type of girl. There is no closet here. Only there is, it's just filled with Transformers and 50 piece puzzles.
"He took up the slack"
Boy, does he ever. Apparently, Hubster does such a great job of doing this, even Google is aware of the fact.
"Mature, loves boys"
Well, I attempt to be mature. And I do love my boys. And if you mean this in any other way, you are free to leave. Actually, I insist.
"Medical school is hard, how to survive"
Ooh, I don't think I can help you here. And I'm sure that reading my stories don't help. The only thing I can tell you is that it is hard. And that almost everyone comes through the other side. You survive the same way the rest of us do. One day at a time, one moment with loved ones at a time, one latte at a time.
"Optimists make poor decisions"
Hey! I resent that. We make perfectly good decisions. Although I did think the eggplant would go over well, so maybe you have a point.
"Post call haze"
Ah, yes. The "30 hours straight, paged non stop, can't feel my feet, can't remember where my car is, thank goodness no one died" post call haze. I'm not sure if you're looking for a definition or a solution. No amount of reading will provide satisfactory definitions. And there is only one solution. Sleep. Glorious sleep.
"My female ego"
I'll be the first to admit, I've got one. I was pretty sure that I didn't. But I get off easy and call it maternal instinct.
"Mom making me do worse at school"
Never! After all, the only reason I follow you around the house asking questions about how your day was, who you played with, what you learned, where is your homework, when is this due, and why did you spell it that way...that was all love.
"Self-help for optimists"
Like I said before, I'm good.
"Who is The Katherine Wheel"
That is the question, isn't it? I've got the demographics pretty much nailed: 20-something, wife, mom of boys, anesthesia resident, newly Midwesterner. But as to who Katherine really is? That's something that always in transition. I was a painter, now a DIY home owner. I was a poet, now I'm a lullaby singer. I was a student, now I'm a life-learner. I was a uptight mountain girl, now I'm a laid-back flat-lander. Who is Katherine? Now that's the real search.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Mockingjay
Considering it was only a two month wait for Mockingjay to be released (instead of the years for the last Harry Potter), it felt like an exceedingly long time before the brown box from Amazon containing my copy showed up on my porch.
And then, with my work schedule, it was longer before I could read it.
I started yesterday afternoon. I just finished.
And now I need to talk.
I'm not sure what to think. I'm not sure what my feelings are about Mockingjay. I feel similar to how I did when Lost was over. I had spent so much time and effort loving and enjoying the whole journey that to say I'm disappointed in the destination is painful. But as I closed the book, it was all I could do to choke back the tears. I felt empty, broken, and sad.
I adore Hunger Games and Catching Fire. I re-read them earlier this week. Once again, I got caught up in the horror, the tradegy, the heart break, the fight for survival. I felt Katniss's despair, her uncertainty, her fury so much more this time.
While Hunger Games and Catching Fire are a page-turning, adrenaline pumping, story about survival and humanity, Mockingjay feels more like a documentary of the brutality of war. Page after page of atrocities. So much that I feel like I may turn into Katniss and lock myself away from the world. While violence levels picks up, the emotions tone down.
I love Katniss in the first two books. Her lack of self-awareness, her love of her sister, her survival skills. However, as Mockingjay progresses, the Katniss that was the heroine of before slips away. On one hand, I can't blame her. She's seen so much terror. Just look at the other victors of the Hunger Games, each one fighting to maintain their sanity.
But, on the other hand, with all great heroes (and heroines) there comes a point when they realize what they need to do. When they become what is needed. When they rise above. This never happens for Katniss. I kept waiting for it. It never happened.
She recognizes that she is hurting people. She recognizes she puts people in danger. She never changes. She leads a mission that occupies much of the last chapter and succeeds in nothing except getting people she cares about killed. The goal of the mission is never accomplished. It feels all the death and destruction was pointless.
And in the end, the thing that matters most, the thing that had driven her and motivated her, is taken from her.
I do admire Suzanne Collins in stepping out from other authors with their natural inclination to protect their characters. Things may happen to them, bad things, but they usually come out whole and even better on the other side. Collins does not do this. She lets horrible things happen to Katniss, to Peeta, to Gale, to Prim. She lets them break, burn, and die. And, as a reader, it's painful. Almost too much so.
The thing that bothers me the most is that this was a book about what humanity means, what we are willing to do and not willing to do. And in the end, the characters seem they were willing to do anything. Even reinstate the horrors that were brought down on them. In the end, they didn't seem different from the enemy. There was no lesson learned. No victory won.
Maybe there's no other way for the book to end. If it has been real life, this is how it would have gone. Katniss, scarred and broken, no normal life to return to. No real hope, no end of of the nightmares.
But I don't read for real life. I want my happy ending.
And even if not a happy ending, an ending that made all the suffering and horror worth it. And ending that mattered.
And then, with my work schedule, it was longer before I could read it.
I started yesterday afternoon. I just finished.
And now I need to talk.
I'm not sure what to think. I'm not sure what my feelings are about Mockingjay. I feel similar to how I did when Lost was over. I had spent so much time and effort loving and enjoying the whole journey that to say I'm disappointed in the destination is painful. But as I closed the book, it was all I could do to choke back the tears. I felt empty, broken, and sad.
I adore Hunger Games and Catching Fire. I re-read them earlier this week. Once again, I got caught up in the horror, the tradegy, the heart break, the fight for survival. I felt Katniss's despair, her uncertainty, her fury so much more this time.
While Hunger Games and Catching Fire are a page-turning, adrenaline pumping, story about survival and humanity, Mockingjay feels more like a documentary of the brutality of war. Page after page of atrocities. So much that I feel like I may turn into Katniss and lock myself away from the world. While violence levels picks up, the emotions tone down.
I love Katniss in the first two books. Her lack of self-awareness, her love of her sister, her survival skills. However, as Mockingjay progresses, the Katniss that was the heroine of before slips away. On one hand, I can't blame her. She's seen so much terror. Just look at the other victors of the Hunger Games, each one fighting to maintain their sanity.
But, on the other hand, with all great heroes (and heroines) there comes a point when they realize what they need to do. When they become what is needed. When they rise above. This never happens for Katniss. I kept waiting for it. It never happened.
She recognizes that she is hurting people. She recognizes she puts people in danger. She never changes. She leads a mission that occupies much of the last chapter and succeeds in nothing except getting people she cares about killed. The goal of the mission is never accomplished. It feels all the death and destruction was pointless.
And in the end, the thing that matters most, the thing that had driven her and motivated her, is taken from her.
I do admire Suzanne Collins in stepping out from other authors with their natural inclination to protect their characters. Things may happen to them, bad things, but they usually come out whole and even better on the other side. Collins does not do this. She lets horrible things happen to Katniss, to Peeta, to Gale, to Prim. She lets them break, burn, and die. And, as a reader, it's painful. Almost too much so.
The thing that bothers me the most is that this was a book about what humanity means, what we are willing to do and not willing to do. And in the end, the characters seem they were willing to do anything. Even reinstate the horrors that were brought down on them. In the end, they didn't seem different from the enemy. There was no lesson learned. No victory won.
Maybe there's no other way for the book to end. If it has been real life, this is how it would have gone. Katniss, scarred and broken, no normal life to return to. No real hope, no end of of the nightmares.
But I don't read for real life. I want my happy ending.
And even if not a happy ending, an ending that made all the suffering and horror worth it. And ending that mattered.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Mixed Emotions
Happiness is...
First day of preschool.
Well, not exactly. I can't say I'm actually happy that Monkey is now four. He reminds us of this fact at every occasion. When he reaches the top of the play structure. When he gets his shoes on. When he goes to the bathroom (and washes up) unassisted. All are announced with a cheerful, "I'm four years old!" I'm not quite as cheerful, since "four" means "older" and "where has the time gone."
Four also means preschool, which means twice a week, childless hours for Hubster at home.
It's a lot of mixed emotions.
But I do have to say, if my Monkey is going to have to grow up and start school, this is the perfect place.
I could not be happier with his preschool.
The garden, the animals, the old barn, the surrounding corn fields. That's where he gets to go to preschool.
And that is reason to be happy.
Visit Leigh at Leigh vs Laundry for The Happiness Project and post of photo of something that makes you happy.
First day of preschool.
Well, not exactly. I can't say I'm actually happy that Monkey is now four. He reminds us of this fact at every occasion. When he reaches the top of the play structure. When he gets his shoes on. When he goes to the bathroom (and washes up) unassisted. All are announced with a cheerful, "I'm four years old!" I'm not quite as cheerful, since "four" means "older" and "where has the time gone."
Four also means preschool, which means twice a week, childless hours for Hubster at home.
It's a lot of mixed emotions.
But I do have to say, if my Monkey is going to have to grow up and start school, this is the perfect place.
I could not be happier with his preschool.
The garden, the animals, the old barn, the surrounding corn fields. That's where he gets to go to preschool.
And that is reason to be happy.
Visit Leigh at Leigh vs Laundry for The Happiness Project and post of photo of something that makes you happy.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Fatigue
Before, when things got tough, my approach was to put my head down and push along. As things got harder, I kept at it. I would flog my body and my mind harder to keep up the pace.
Before medical school, I had experienced the usually fatigue. The sleepless nights of a newborn. The occasional all-nighter before a college final. The long road trip. Most of my fatigue was easily managed by a few extra hours of sleep on the weekend or going to bed a little earlier.
And then came medical school. Early classes, late evening labs, and then the studying. The 4-8 hour a day studying. My time to sleep was cut back. From 8 hours to 6 hours, and then to 4-5 hours of sleep a night. Obviously, my ability to stay awake in lecture decreased in direct correlation to my lack of sleep. So, naturally I turned to a cheap legal stimulant. Caffeine. Yes, I was a caffeine consumer before this. I enjoyed my diet Coke, I loved the occasional latte. But now, caffeine wasn't an occasional enjoyment. It was a daily essential. I started drinking Coke after Coke. Then it was coffee after coffee. Enough that Hubster accused me of keeping Starbucks in business.
I was rewarded for flogging myself harder. I got fantastic grades, top marks on exams, flew through boards with amazing scores. Because I had realized early on in medical school that, unlike in undergraduate classes where I was unquestionably the smartest person in the class, in this academic arena, I was only an average smart person. My ego and my view of myself were at risk. I could never out-compete my fellow medical students on sheer brains. I would have to out-compete them with effort. So I studied, beat my body with lack of sleep, beat my brain with caffeine, and succeeded.
And then things got worse. Monkey was born (okay, that's not the "worse" part, that was the joyous part, but still, newborns are hard). I started clinical rotations and started taking overnight call every fourth night. I started working 80-120 hours a week. And still studying. I cut my sleep from 4-5 hours to 3-4 hours. I went every fourth night without sleep. I was a zombie. Coffee, no matter how strong, wasn't cutting it. So I turned to caffeine tablets. 200 mg of caffeine a tab. Multiple tablets a day. So much caffeine in my system that I had horrific withdrawals.
This is where the story could become tragic. I've seen it happen before. I've watched it happen. But I had made Hubster a promise that I would never take anything illegal. That I would never use something that wasn't available at Wal-mart.
This is where I also grew up.
Residency is similar in its demands on my time. There are still plenty of sleepless nights.
But as part of growing up, I'm gentler with myself. Instead of whipping myself to go harder, go faster, do more, I find ways to make my time more efficient, my life less stressful, my schedule more manageable. Yes, a cup of coffee is still necessary occasionally during a bad call night. A diet coke is sometimes still needed to get me through lecture. But when I get tired, I think about how I can change things at home to get more sleep. As a teenager I thought that sleep was such a waste of time. All it did was eat hours of potentially productive time out of my day. Now, I see sleep as healthy, and honestly, enjoyable.
I've also changed my priorities. My family is infinitely more important to me. Yes, I want to be a good doctor. Yes, I want to do well on boards and in-training exams. But I'm not willing to sacrifice my health and sanity for it any more.
I'm perfectly okay being just an average smart person.
Before medical school, I had experienced the usually fatigue. The sleepless nights of a newborn. The occasional all-nighter before a college final. The long road trip. Most of my fatigue was easily managed by a few extra hours of sleep on the weekend or going to bed a little earlier.
And then came medical school. Early classes, late evening labs, and then the studying. The 4-8 hour a day studying. My time to sleep was cut back. From 8 hours to 6 hours, and then to 4-5 hours of sleep a night. Obviously, my ability to stay awake in lecture decreased in direct correlation to my lack of sleep. So, naturally I turned to a cheap legal stimulant. Caffeine. Yes, I was a caffeine consumer before this. I enjoyed my diet Coke, I loved the occasional latte. But now, caffeine wasn't an occasional enjoyment. It was a daily essential. I started drinking Coke after Coke. Then it was coffee after coffee. Enough that Hubster accused me of keeping Starbucks in business.
I was rewarded for flogging myself harder. I got fantastic grades, top marks on exams, flew through boards with amazing scores. Because I had realized early on in medical school that, unlike in undergraduate classes where I was unquestionably the smartest person in the class, in this academic arena, I was only an average smart person. My ego and my view of myself were at risk. I could never out-compete my fellow medical students on sheer brains. I would have to out-compete them with effort. So I studied, beat my body with lack of sleep, beat my brain with caffeine, and succeeded.
And then things got worse. Monkey was born (okay, that's not the "worse" part, that was the joyous part, but still, newborns are hard). I started clinical rotations and started taking overnight call every fourth night. I started working 80-120 hours a week. And still studying. I cut my sleep from 4-5 hours to 3-4 hours. I went every fourth night without sleep. I was a zombie. Coffee, no matter how strong, wasn't cutting it. So I turned to caffeine tablets. 200 mg of caffeine a tab. Multiple tablets a day. So much caffeine in my system that I had horrific withdrawals.
This is where the story could become tragic. I've seen it happen before. I've watched it happen. But I had made Hubster a promise that I would never take anything illegal. That I would never use something that wasn't available at Wal-mart.
This is where I also grew up.
Residency is similar in its demands on my time. There are still plenty of sleepless nights.
But as part of growing up, I'm gentler with myself. Instead of whipping myself to go harder, go faster, do more, I find ways to make my time more efficient, my life less stressful, my schedule more manageable. Yes, a cup of coffee is still necessary occasionally during a bad call night. A diet coke is sometimes still needed to get me through lecture. But when I get tired, I think about how I can change things at home to get more sleep. As a teenager I thought that sleep was such a waste of time. All it did was eat hours of potentially productive time out of my day. Now, I see sleep as healthy, and honestly, enjoyable.
I've also changed my priorities. My family is infinitely more important to me. Yes, I want to be a good doctor. Yes, I want to do well on boards and in-training exams. But I'm not willing to sacrifice my health and sanity for it any more.
I'm perfectly okay being just an average smart person.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Well, at least for me
Happiness is...
These darling fingerling striped eggplants at the farmer's market.
There were also pale purple, dark purple, white, and green ones. I wanted to get some of each. But little boys do protest so much.
They are even able to pick all the pieces of delicate, tasty eggplant out of their servings of ratatouille.
I'll be sure to hide it much better next time.
Stop by Leigh vs Laundry from The Happiness Project, and post a picture of something that makes you happy!
These darling fingerling striped eggplants at the farmer's market.
There were also pale purple, dark purple, white, and green ones. I wanted to get some of each. But little boys do protest so much.
They are even able to pick all the pieces of delicate, tasty eggplant out of their servings of ratatouille.
I'll be sure to hide it much better next time.
Stop by Leigh vs Laundry from The Happiness Project, and post a picture of something that makes you happy!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Now Four
There is this strange, ambiguous line between toddlerhood and childhood. Where your children stop being babies and start being, well, children.
I think we've crossed that line.
Monkey is 4.
Which he announced by coming into our room at o'dark thirty and asking for his presents. Now.
It was a quiet day. As opposed to the loud hectic birthday celebrated earlier this summer. We celebrated simply, at home, with a few friends.
There was cake.
There were balloons.
There were presents (Automoblox are amazing!).
There was the quintessential "smile and pose with your cake" picture.
And the whole time, while we were enjoying the heavily frosted cake and the homemade ice cream, I was nearly dying on the inside.
Monkey is now 4. He is sprinting through this childhood faster than I thought possible. I keep asking myself how it's possible that we've reached this point already. The point of developing independence, the point of preschool, the point of no longer wanting to be carried and snuggled. The moment they are born, our children begin this sprint, out of our arms and into the future of their own.
He is proud of being 4. Because, according to him, he is now almost 5.
Slow down. One birthday at a time.
It was a wonderful day. A day of finger foods. A day of celebrating the transition from toddlerhood to boyhood. A day of capturing memories to hang onto as the years continue to fly past.
I think we've crossed that line.
Monkey is 4.
Which he announced by coming into our room at o'dark thirty and asking for his presents. Now.
It was a quiet day. As opposed to the loud hectic birthday celebrated earlier this summer. We celebrated simply, at home, with a few friends.
There was cake.
There were balloons.
There were presents (Automoblox are amazing!).
There was the quintessential "smile and pose with your cake" picture.
And the whole time, while we were enjoying the heavily frosted cake and the homemade ice cream, I was nearly dying on the inside.
Monkey is now 4. He is sprinting through this childhood faster than I thought possible. I keep asking myself how it's possible that we've reached this point already. The point of developing independence, the point of preschool, the point of no longer wanting to be carried and snuggled. The moment they are born, our children begin this sprint, out of our arms and into the future of their own.
He is proud of being 4. Because, according to him, he is now almost 5.
Slow down. One birthday at a time.
It was a wonderful day. A day of finger foods. A day of celebrating the transition from toddlerhood to boyhood. A day of capturing memories to hang onto as the years continue to fly past.
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