I got a package in the mail the other day, which was a little strange, because I hadn't ordered anything. Inside the outer box was a big slippery black box and a leatherette portfolio embossed with some fancy pants script that read "AWARD". Award? Me? I was an award winner! I was a STAR! I opened the big slippery black box, and inside was...a keychain. A keychain surrounded by a bed of foam. The "award" was a token of recognition from [University Hospital] for "three years of commitment and service."
A keychain. Dang. At least they could have sent me the umbrella or tote bag.
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So the funny thing about this job fair. Joe and I both went, and we brought Cal long for the ride. We were both wearing name tags with our names and our specialties, and we both took turns holding Cal as we went up to the various booths. However, the people working the booths looked at the two of us, and invariably started talking to Joe, asking him what field he was in, when he was looking to place in a job, what geographical location was he looking at, etcetera. And at some point, either Joe or I would pipe in that yes, by the way, this is my wife Michelle, she's a resident in Anesthesia, and the employer/scout/headhunter's eyes would get all big and they would say, "Oh. OH! You're a doctor too! No kidding!" But then they would go back to talking to Joe. I'm not quite sure why this was--there were plenty of female physicians at the job fair, and there were even a few (older) kids running around the place. But I think the combination of having a double physician family show up with a baby just kind of threw them. IT'S JUST WAY TOO CONFUSING. Easier to assume that I was the child care associate, I guess. But anyway, we got a lot of free pens and promotional tchotchkes, and you know how I love that stuff.
Whatever. I don't want a job in rural Maine anyway. Do they even do Anesthesia up there, or do they just pack their patients in ice and hope that they don't feel anything?
(Just kidding, Maine lovers. I know Maine is supposed to be beautiful. But the recruiter was there for RURAL rural Maine. As in, the population of the town was half the size of the employee census of my current hospital. And that's including the moose. Meece. I don't mind moving to a town smaller than New York, but that's really, really small.)
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So now that it's spring again, we've started our annual Planting of Outdoor Plants That We Will Eventually Kill. (Seriously, we kill them. But it's not out fault! Sometimes we get sold bum plants that are, like, half-dead already. And last year, the garden was doing really well, and then Cal was born, and come on, was I really supposed to remember to water the flowers EVERY DAY?) But this year, it's all good. We planted orange and yellow marigolds in the flowerboxes on the ledge, and these weird little pinky-orangey-yellow multicolored cluster flowers (I don't know the name) in the bigger pots on the side, and now everything looks so lovely and springy. I will take pictures when the sun actually deigns to shine, but for now, just trust me: SPRINGY. I also just ordered a few trees (they are very small "trees"--this is a city garden, remember) for some of our bigger pots. I got one lime tree, one lemon, and one orange. In my rich fantasy life, they will bloom and produce fruit and we will be Maximally Martha by using the fruit to cook and zest and make fruity drinks for our guests. But probably we will be lucky if we get one good-sized fruit out of each of these little shrubs. If we remember to water them, that is.
(This is called "being domestic".)
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Oh yeah, Mother's Day. It was nice. I was maternal. Joe made pancakes. Then we went to Home Depot and got childproofing stuff so that Cal won't get electrocuted or eat bleach. He is really very, very close to walking. He has been standing alone (without holding on) for a while now, but now he has been taking single steps on his own. He is also very keen to go on the floor and cruise on stuff, no longer content to just be held or play in his designated play area (you know, the baby cage). Developmentally, he's doing really well, except for ONE THING. He doesn't say "ma ma." I don't mean saying it on purpose, like he's saying my name--I don't expect that for a while yet. But he doesn't even make the "ma" sound. He will say "mmmmm" and he says "da da" (as well as variations thereof--"do do" and "dih dih") until the cows come home, but no "ma ma ma." Come on Cal, IT'S NOT THAT HARD. Easier than "da da," anyway. Just close your mouth and open it. "Ma." SO EASY. So why can't you do it? Whenever I say "Ma ma ma" around him in order to, you know, encourage him to copy me, he just laughs. HA HA HA, SO FUNNY. You know what else was super funny? When I GAVE BIRTH TO YOU.
If he starts saying "Cooper" before he says "ma ma," I'm going to be a little peeved.
Currently reading: "Anesthesiology Review." This is actually a really good review book, for those interested in that kind of thing. I'm going in for the Hall book too, which I understand has a lot of practice questions in it.