I had a lab situation that smacked of domestic violence, and it kept me awake too long last night. Freaked me out.
My Conway leftover pile was almost as high as my new cases in L.R. pile today. Worked non-stop.
I had an uncharacteristic meltdown to my estrogen lifeboat on the phone yesterday. Felt guilty.
I'm not alone. My senior partner was even venting about stress - the rock. Mr. Even Keel. That grounded me, a little. Everyone is working overtime. In the hospital, you can't predict the ebb and flow of work - it just comes and you have no choice but to attack it. This was a week for everyone, it seems. Feast, not famine.
I won't even go there in personal divorce matters. I am weathering that well, but it gets tough at times. Monday was a low point. Since then, it has gotten better. Up and down. In and out. Back and forth. How many more months? Lawyer says three. Looking for a trial date. Working out summer custody. I learned some new lingo - 2/2/1. Dad gets 2 weeks in June, 2 weeks in July, 1 week in August. I cringe at the thought of being away from my kids for a week at a time. Then I think about what he must feel like - I've got more time with them overall. More guilt. Anger. Guilt. Empathy. Anger. Selfishness. Guilt.
T.G.I.F. Had a great dinner with brother Matt and three new buddies and kids at the Pizza Joint tonight, while my gorgeous summer nanny made the pizzas. Enjoyed watermelon and popcorn with the kids afterwards, watching the DVD from John's end of the year school program - he starred in Five Green and Speckled Frogs, You Are My Sunshine, and some Biker song. We played tickle raspberry time until 9:00 - luckily I didn't tickle them so hard they puked, like the other night. Both of them. Sicily first - rainbow snow cone comes up like mud pies. John caught the pukes like that pie-eating contest in Stand By Me. It was hilarious, but exhausting to bathe the kids past bedtime. I promised no more tickle/raspberry time. I lied.
Am I allowed to be mad, on my blog? I am the ultimate Pollyanna. To a fault, mom says. Kids are still up, complaining about tummy aches and bad dreams ("You haven't even been to sleep yet? How could you have had a bad dream?"). I raise my voice. Demand settling. Feel guilty. Assure them I love them, even when I am mad at them.
Countdown to the end of naps for John, forever. Only four more days. Thank God.
Jazz night was a blast. Music is my happy place. And books. And wine. Time for that, now.