Women who leave good men

For every woman who has left a wonderful man for one with more money, or better looks, I hope you get what you've got coming to you.

I'm not sure I believe in Karma. I mean I hope it's out there. But I am still waiting for two women I know to get their just desserts. They don't deserve anything good in their lives. If their selfishness is rewarded here on earth, I can only hope they have to answer for it later.

What am I doing?

It took me forever to get back to this. I don't even know what to put in the address bar to get here. I don't remember how to sign in. I went to Google and they told me my password was incorrect. So, I reset it to what I thought it was in the first place. How do other people find out about someone's blog? Word of mouth? Posting the address somewhere like on fb? Does anyone ever just "stumble" along someone's blog? People get into trouble over what they've said in a blog. Seems like a blog is a public diary. I'm still not sure what the point of all of this is. Like I said. "What am I doing?"

Inside my mind and heart.

My job is so depressing. Being a CNA at a nursing home has its rewards, but working with young girls who don't really care about these poor elderly people makes it hard for me to sleep at night.

Going to my superiors isn't even an option. They aren't going to get rid of them anyway, and it just makes my life more miserable. Being treated like crap and given the cold shoulder, is something that cuts me like a knife. And that is exactly what would happen if I told anyone about the things I witness these girls doing and not doing. And the worst part is how they have my superiors sooo fooled. Either that or they're in denial.  They think these girls are just wonderful. I told the charge nurse how two girls had seven people in bed in a half  hour and how three of these residents are ones who require a lift, and she just said, "I don't know how they do it. And I KNOW they do good cares." 
Good cares. Yeah, right. If she would just stop and think about that for a minute, she would know that it is impossible to get that many people in bed in half an hour and still gently remove clothing and put on pajamas,  toilet them and do pericare, brush their teeth, apply lotion, remove trash and laundry and wash hands in between rooms. How many times does seven go into 30? They had to have worked together on three of these residents. That would allow 10 minutes for each of those. But they also had four others in bed.
I don't want to cause trouble. I just want these poor elderly people to be treated with dignity and respect and be well taken care of. Good cares? I wonder how this nurse would explain the dry toothbrushes I found. Guess the girls forgot to wet them to try and fool me. That is what they do when they remember.
I think that is why they don't want to work with me. I slow them down because I DO brush teeth and put people on the toilet and apply lotion if available.
It's hard being hated by your coworkers. But I know the residents love me. And I know how many of them feel about these young girls. I know because the residents themselves have told me, and it isn't good. I know things that no one else knows and it's lonely keeping these secrets. But like I said, even if I told them, nothing good would come of it. Sometimes I think I am the only one who does care.           

Dreaming of a son

All three times I was pregnant, it was I who wanted a son. I, who hoped and prayed the baby would not only be healthy, but MALE.


I was the one who dreamed of watching my son score the winning touchdown, tie or beat his father's fastest pin record in wrestling and I who wanted to feel his big strong arms around me as he sneaked up behind me as I stood at the stove cooking to say, "Hi Mom. What's for dinner?"

They always say a mother and son have a special bond . . . like fathers and daughters. I wanted to know that bond. But I was thinking the other day, is that really why I wanted a son? Or did I subconsciously have ulterior motives?

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my four daughters dearly. And I am proud and happy to say I have good relationships with all of them. But there are times they can really drive me up the wall.

Whenever I want the curling iron, it's in use. Same thing with the hair dryer. The razors are always dull and they are constantly helping themselves to my makeup.

I bought three sets of tweezers and watched as they dwindled to two, then one, and finally, "WHERE ARE MY TWEEZERS!?"

There is no such thing as "my" anything. You never know which room you'll find the nail polish remover in, and I can frequently be heard saying, in disbelief, "But I just bought that can of shaving cream."

If I can't find a favorite shirt, it's a sure bet it's in one of their rooms, most likely dirty and mixed in with the rest of their clutter.

My hair brush is never where I leave it, which is in the drawer with the other hair items. In other words, where it belongs. I always seem to be on a frantic search for something. (Cotton balls. Where are my cotton balls?)

A great smelling perfume disappears remarkably fast . . . that is if the entire bottle itself doesn't vanish.

And more and more I am hearing things like, "Mom, if you're not planning on wearing it tonight, may I borrow your pink camisole with the lacy straps?"

One day things were especially crazy and I thought to myself, with my head in my hands, "what could be worse than this?" A couple of nights later, I had my answer.

I had a dream. And in my dream I was so happy. I had a son! I was standing at the stove cooking. My son sneaked up behind me and put his arms around me. I was in heaven! And then he said to me, "Mom, if you're not planning on wearing it tonight, may I borrow your pink camisole with the lacy straps?"

Here goes nothing (literally).

I don't have a clue as to what I am doing. But I suppose others got their start the same way. Wish I had more time to play with this. But, alas, I must go to work. Something I will no doubt talk more about, later.