How to Stifle Education with Cocktails and Other Threats

I have a husband, Jim.  A very, very smart husband. How smart you ask?

Not too smart, he married me!

I remind him of the above mentioned fact if he complains about things I might do.

I tell him he…

– Should just find my annoying habits endearing, it would be easier for him AND me since I am getting too old to change for the better.

– Married me AND that means he married my taste and that means no decorator but he may hire a housekeeper, (so that I have more time to decorate.)

– Needs to remember that he married me knowing that whatever has made him mad is also probably one of the reasons he wanted to marry me.

The list goes on and evolves so as to satisfy my ever-changing needs.

Jim and I were on our way this week to his latest graduation.  He went back for additional training a year ago.  He just completed a fellowship in musculoskeletal imaging.  We debated not even going to the ceremony.

I told him we had to.  I wanted to be sure that there would be no excuse for any FUTURE graduations such as, “I feel unfulfilled missing my 43 graduation ceremony.  I need to go back to school, for more training or redirect my career path” crap.

I threw on a skirt and a shirt and a pair of heels that were chewed up from another night of actually having fun in them.

The last graduation I bought a new gown, shoes, jewelry, flew in Jim’s mom and bought her all the same.  We stopped to buy flowers for his program director.  We hired a sitter.  It was a night out at the “fancy” country club all kelly green, pink and oriental vases.

We pulled out of our driveway this week shouting out the window to the kids to make themselves a burrito.  We were heading to the same pink and green country club.  We were both far less enthusiastic.

I sat in the front seat looking for some sunblock to slap on my dry knees and announced, “I am getting tanked tonight.”

I liked saying it just to force the mental image of seventy-five academic physicians, residents, fellows and their spouses eating baked Alaska while I am falling down drunk.

Jim says, “Really?  You are planning this ahead of time?”

I had and I was.

Me, “Yes.  It is the only way I can be sure you won’t go back for more training.  It will have to be epic.”

Jim, “Awesome.”

I knew he wasn’t doubting that I was actually thinking about this.

Here is what really happened.

I may have sat at a table for ten and been one of only two women and still somehow managed to bring up “Fifty Shades of Grey.”  I then tried guessing which of the men looked tired enough to deem that their wives were reading it or had recently read it.  This is no small feat considering most radiologists look tired from lack of sunlight and interaction with humans, I may have also mentioned this.

I may have told my husband’s subspecialty department director that his nickname for Jim sucked, (R.J. for “Research Jim”) and that it should be “Antwone” and then went on to tell him why he should call him that.

The program director somehow managed to bring up my full first and last name in her speech and included an “Abbie quote” with full body impersonation from six years ago in this very same room and at the very same graduation ceremony.  She then asked where I was in the room and I had the full attention of all of the docs and their “others.”

This is fantastic!  I have only had half a drink and I am “infamous.”  I don’t need to keep drinking!  Poor Jim just looks at me while I am smiling back at him.

I didn’t think it was that memorable but I guess shouting out, “Yayyy BABY!  WE GOT FURNITURE!” when the program presents your husband with one of those “collegiate” chairs with his name on a plaque with “Chief Resident” may have been the most exciting thing other than not having baked Alaska for the, (what is now my fifth) graduation dinner desert.

(Pretend there is a picture here from this weeks graduation.  See, I told you we were less than enthusiastic.  I don’t even have a picture!  I have photos of EVERYTHING including my kids funny poops.  Kidding, but I do have one and if your lucky I will share it with you one day.)

I only told one other person my goal of total inebriation with the end result being embarrassing Jim from any future higher education aspirations.  I looked over at her and said, “Well I guess I can just rest on my laurels and not have a hangover tomorrow.”

You know what though?

I reminded myself that for all the reasons that I tell Jim he should accept me I realized I have to accept Jim.  I love him because he loves learning.  I love him because when we were eighteen and at his high school graduation party his aunt asked him what he was going to do with is life and he said, “I am going to be a doctor.”

I may have spit Coke out of my nose when he said this and I may have said, “I think maybe you should join the military or study computers” and he still held firm that was what he wanted to do.

Who knew you never really needed to show up to high school to become valedictorian of your medical school class, or chief resident, or mammography doc, or musculoskeletal imaging sub-specialist.

Maybe that is really why I married Jim.  


– I find his tenacity endearing.

– He makes me happy to be his wife when he looks at me proudly when an esteemed doctor does a full body impersonation of me at the podium at HIS graduation.

– I love him because he knows I would never really get drunk on his special night but he will sit and listen to my master plan to, just to entertain me.

Thanks for letting me share with you all that makes me,

Abbie, All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing.

Why my belly-button is now a cup holder…

I have two stories.  One makes you cry and the other makes you pee yourself laughing.  SInce it is Monday I am going to tell you the story of one woman’s, (me) amazing birth of a farm animal, (sized baby) in front of two four-year olds and while miraculously being cured of a latex allergy. My first pregnancy was a twin pregnancy, (the Kleenex story.)  This story, (the Depends story) is about my second pregnancy which was supposed to be easy and uneventful.

Stay with the story because at the end you will be calling me a liar until I prove it all with pictures. I can prove about anything with pictures. I snap bad pictures with my phone, (usually) of everything. Want to see Peter’s first poop in the potty on his second birthday? I have it and it is actually super cute, not the poop but his expression and unabashed nakedness.  Oh, I will just save it for another post. 😉

I had twins the first time around six weeks early and weighing in at, 5 and 6 1/2 pounds. Oh yes, I am a breeder. I began the pregnancy at 103 pounds and my belly measured 47 weeks pregnant at 32 weeks, (I am also 5′ 3″) and I went two more weeks. When I was pregnant with Peter I made my physician husband do three EXTRA ultrasounds on me. I knew there was another one in there somewhere. I felt as big at I did with twins.


We had just moved several states away and we didn’t know anyone really. We didn’t know anyone well enough to drop our preschoolers off at their homes. My biggest worry was I would go into labor early and I would have to take our two four-year olds to the hospital with us. I was prepared as I could be. I had little bags pre-packed with dollar store toys and candy and there were lots of small things individually wrapped to entertain two little boys while we were at the hospital, just in case.

The boys and I went to Build-a-Bear and we made their new little brother a bunny to bring to the hospital after Peter was born. We had my mother-in-law fly in for ten days around my due date.
At some point I had a blood draw to see if I had gestational diabetes (I get that gigantic) and the band-aid they put on my arm afterwards caused a chemical burn. Someone noted this in my charts. Someone noted that I had a “latex allergy”. I did NOT have a latex allergy. It was from the glue on the band-aid.  I hear from commercials on TV that it is hard to get things like workman’s comp, insurance settlements and relieved of your debt. They strongly urge you to call “The Law Offices of _________”. They should do commercials about getting a false “latex allergy” off of your medical charts.

During my OB appointment, on my due date, I mentioned that my MIL would be leaving soon and since I was sure this baby was already double digits I would like to be induced. Isn’t that what all you girls did? Everyone I know who asked for induction got it. He checked me and said the baby hadn’t dropped so I was sent home.

A few days later I went back in and told him I had contractions. He checked me again and said he hadn’t dropped and sent me home.

Two days later, (haven’t slept due to contractions) the doc saw me and confirmed that the baby was indeed large but NOT ten pounds as I was suggesting but closer to eight. He said he would send me over to schedule the induction since an eight pound baby was big for someone my size. Yippee!!!!! So I take myself over to the hospital and call my husband and MIL.

The nurse meets with me and says, “Ohhhhhh, so I see you have a latex allergy.”

I am all smiles and eyelash batting while rolling my eyes and say, “Oh that was just from the glue on the band-aid. It has happened before with certain brands.”

She hands me a pager, LIKE AT THE FLIPPING OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE, and tells me to go home and wait for a “latex allergy free induction room” to become available.

I go home and cry. I rock in the rocking chair for two more days holding that pager. There is no sleeping because of my contractions. My MIL is leaving the next day and so I go and buy 40 bags of mulch and load and unload them. I then haul them all over my front yard and spread them. Why won’t my water break like the first pregnancy?! I go back up to the nursery and rock and think about my MIL leaving the next day and what am I going to do with two boys at the hospital?

Here is where Abbie lost her mind. I don’t lie. I tell the truth to a fault. I wish I could lie better. Everyone needs the ability to tell a little white lie for the greater good. Jim is now home from work and I will have no one to watch the boys when MIL leaves the next night.  I have no choice.

I announce with excitement, “The pager went off!”

We decide that we would all go to the hospital so the boys can see me off and then MIL will take the boys home. We all walk up to the maternity ward and I roll my little suitcase up to the desk and announce, “Hi! I am here to be induced. My pager went off.” Smiling, smiling, smiling.

Those women at that desk know everything. Before she even looked down at her paperwork she looked at me and said it all. Her face was saying, “Lady, aint nobody here paged you and I don’t care how big you smile and how nice you are…NO ROOM FOR YOU!”

(Photo is actually Peter)

What comes out of her mouth is instead, “Ohhhhhh, you have a latex allergy. We don’t have a latex free room available. I don’t show that anyone paged you.”

My bottom lip quivers and I look over my shoulder at my crew. I then turn back around at her and say, “Yeah but since we are all here and I don’t REALLY have a latex allergy and my MIL is leaving in 24 hours can you just do it in a regular room because this baby is huge and I am having contractions and I haven’t slept in days and please, please, please…”

This story turned out to be too long and so I will post the second half tomorrow…

The winner from my caption contest on Saturday is Julie Catherine!

Thanks for reading and “follow me” for “All that makes you…”