I wore eyeliner to bed last night. Just to be safe.

Sometime last week...we hit the calendar's first day of spring.  And last night, in North Carolina, we hit the real first day of spring.  Here, spring arrives via pansies, crocuses, daffodils and imminent danger, in the form of tornadoes.

Yesterday was the first one of 'those' days when the air seems kind of chilly and then suddenly seems to heat up a bit - not hot or anything, just noticeably warmer.  And no sooner than the temperature changes, the clouds start taking on strange (and pretty) patterns.  Yep - storm brewing...

I doubt I paid much attention to tornadoes when I lived in Pennsylvania.  And I probably didn't pay too much attention to them when I first moved here - until I realized they were not only real, they were kind of, um, bad.

It didn't take me long to buy the standard necessities:  A weather radio, a battery powered radio, a flashlight and a gallon of bottled wather.  I bought these a few years ago (weather radio was courtesy of my parents) - but last year was the first year I'd ever collected them all together and brought them into the downstairs bathroom with me to hide.

That day, the clouds above my neighborhood were clearly working into a rotation ~ and eventually swept down about a mile and a half from my  house. Fortunately, my bathroom entrapment was short lived.  Ironically, I was reading Anne Frank at the time - and as I sat perched on the closed toiled seat with my gear and pets at my feet, I developed a whole new admiration for her. 

Last night...things were looking grim once again.  I'm pretty used to the Tornado Watches - they pop up all the time.  The biggest problem with these is that I have to work through the alert slowly..."Okay, a Watch...that's more than a Warning?  No....less.  Wait, that doesn't make sense, if they are saying 'watch,' doesn't that mean I could SEE a tornado?"

So yeah, a Watch is first, then a Warning.  Last night, the Watches started flipping to Warnings and tornado sightings - just when I wanted to go to bed.  And the quandries began.

First, what do you wear to bed to be ready for a possible tornado?  I mean, I want to be comfortable (Tshirt only) and safe (plus bike helmet, elbow and knee pads), but also look cute in case a fireman has to rescue me (brush hair into chignon, apply make up) and still be able to run from the threat of danger (sneakers).

Second, what to do about the weather radio?  My dream is to find a weather radio that only alarms if I, personally, am in danger. Instead, what I have alarms for the entire county and for both watches and warnings.  There is no in between.

So I have this dilemma of leaving it on, knowing that I will be woken up regulary for repeats of the latest watch - but safer in the event of an actual warning.  Or turn the volume to mute and rely on the tiny dots (orange for watch, red for warning) that I could peek at throughout the night.  I went for option two. Clearly not the safest, and yet, aren't I more refreshed today?

Next issue - what to bring to bed. Last night, I opted for my whole purse (lip gloss included), cell phone and charger, a granola bar and battery powered radio/flashlight. Because if I go spinning through the air, I'm sure I'll be able to grab all that stuff.

And...after all that - we were fine at Casa Juanson. Which I am totally thankful for.  I like to think that all my prep work is what pushed the tornados in the other direction.  I come by this theory honestly - my grandmother used to hide in what my sister and I called, "The Beefaroni Closet."

This was used during most during hurricane season down at Myrtle Beach.

It was an actual closet - empty - except for a lawn chair, a few books, a can opener, fork and about a dozen cans of Beefaroni.  And it worked - her home was always spared.

Which gives me an idea...perhaps a few cans of Beefaroni for the bathroom?

Rental Properties Available

Another sign of spring? A flurry of feathery friends.  Last Friday, when I came home from work I put up the annual bird/squirrel feeder.  I actually spent money on a nice one this year (thank you Black Friday) - so much so that I wanted it in view from, well my couch.  The trick is to place it in view, yet far enough away from the porch railings so that only the birds can get to it. 

For four years, we lived blissfully squirrel free.  Last year, one bully of a rodent took down Finch Feeder after Finch Feeder.  I eventually bought a squirt gun and would try to drown him in the act...hopefully he'll keep that in mind if he is waivering on a return to Casa Juanson.

By Saturday, things were kicking out there - all sorts of birds were doing drive-bys to check out this year's menu.  On Sunday, I filled the bird bath.  I hung out tiny towels and mini-shampoos and lavender soaps for my feathered friends. 

And yesterday - I knew I had some takers.

Before we get to the proof - let me explain the transience of my Blue Bird House.  For years, I had it hanging at the end of my privacy fence - as per directions - 'away from activity, high off the ground...'.  And each year, it was ignored.  A year or so ago, I took it down, frustrated of the constant reminder that MY rental wasn't good enough. 

I left it sitting on the porch rail as a reminder to take it to the trash.  And about three seconds later, a Blue Bird moved in.  In the most active, close to the ground spot available.  That first season, I had two rounds of baby Blue Birds.  Last year, it was three (although, sadly, the previously mentioned squirrel ate the first batch of eggs.  Barbarian....he didn't even have any toast.).

I was kind of nervous this year as one of my neighbor's went out and bought an actual apartment building for the Blue Birds.  It's got approximately 38 rooms, stands 20 feet off the ground, is white and pretty - hell, I want to move in.

But, yippee!!  I peaked in the improperly located house last night - and sure enough, someone's already working on a next.  It's just a start, but I imagine if I check again tonight, it will be about finished.

Now onto casa numero dos...as expected...I have another totally inappropriately placed bird house on the market - and there may be some takers.

This house was, again, up on a four-by-four for two years - perfectly placed per the housing authority.  No takers.  Over the winter, the bottom sort of collapsed up into it.

So I pulled it off the four-by-four and put it in a 'this-is-just-for-decoration spot.'  And noticed this weekend that there was a small pile of pine straw below it.  Hmmmmm. 

Remember, the bottom is gone.  I'm sure that wasn't disappointing at all for the birds trying to make a nest.  Flying in over and over with pine straw and goose feathers...dropping them in and watching them hit the deck below....wtf?

I dug up some old tiles to set underneath it - thus making an adobe style bird house...for any Mexican American Blue Birds that want to live on my back porch illegally while they wait for universal heathcare to kick in.

I'm not sure if this house will take - but it does look cute...and at the very least it may draw the rodent away from the 'real' one.

And it is a prime location, the bath is just across the deck.

Here's the development - currently just two properties available, sitting back to back. 

Great lakeside views. 
Guard Cat Service at no extra charge. 

Little lady will check on your babies frequently,
but promises never to touch them.

Hey, Village..I found your Idiot!

Pre-Blog Disclaimer:  The facts in this blog are true.  I will do my best not to mention any names - ergo, you can assume I am not talking about you or your habits...surely, I just wouldn't do that...

I've worked in Sales Support since the beginning of time. It's true, back when that snake was trying to sell those stupid apples to unsuspecting people, who do you think kept things running back at the shop?  Me.

Noone goes into this career path willingly.  I wouldn't even call it a path.  What's less than a path...a trail?  It's definitely not paved, I know that much.  The curse is that once you're in it - and especially if you're good at it - it's like the mafia...there's no chance escape. 

I liken my job to adult daycare. Making sure my team has everything they need to have a great day without actually having to do any thinking. 

Thinking is a bad, bad habit for sales people to adopt. 

For the most part - it's not a terrible gig. There's a ton of autonomy, very little thanks and a mediocre paycheck. Oh, that didn't sound right. At least fourteen times a day, I realize I'm smarter I am than someone - that's a bonus. At least seven times a day, I realize I'm more self-sufficient I am than someone - that's nice.

Sales Teams are all the same - I've worked with teams in cable tv advertising, radio advertising, back to cable tv advertising...and now technology sales.  Same characters - different plays. 

There are those that struggle to open emails without help; those that liken every event in their day to a global crisis; those that confuse selling with saving people's lives. There are those that, were they anymore lazy, would stop breathing.  And there are a few gems - folks that go out, do the job, don't cause me too much grief...and tip me out at holiday time.  (I have exactly 3 of those.  Out of 14).

I would like to start my own grassroots campaign for change.  It's called, "If You Can Do It Yourself In Less Time Than It Takes To Send Me An Email...Just Do It Yourself." I can't figure out how to shorten that enough to fit on a t-shirt and still have meaning.

Perfect example - "Forward this for me."  Some of you already know exactly what I'm talking about and are probably chuckling.  The rest of you...are either blessed or culprits.

When I get an email from someone asking me to forward it to someone else...I turn into a completely different person.  A person with no patience, no tolerance, no cares about getting fired.  A person who has to sit on her hands to keep from either hitting the "Reply" button or picking up the phone. 

If you can send me an email to forward on, then, FOR THE LOVE OF ARE YOU THERE GOD IT'S ME MARGARET, you can foward it yourself.  I'm just saying.

It always takes me about a dozen tries to actually forward these emails.  I've learned to save them as a draft for no less than 30 minutes.  This has saved me numerous times from sending along emails that have quips ranging from, "Mr. X wanted me to forward this to you because he his head's up his ass" or "Forwarding for Mr. X because I am so far down on the totem pole that I have time for mundane tasks like this" or "Seriously???"

One of my old, favorite bosses called that editing..."No need to add your own edits," he would say...

In truth, the group I'm with right now makes my life pretty easy.  Not my work life - my 'not-getting-fired' life. They are saucy and vocal and, well, they're all dudes.  Which means my occasional rants (also saucy and vocal) don't send them home crying. 

And, I suppose, having a group that can't quite grasp forwarding their own emails offers a pretty great piece of job security.

Babysitting the New Generation

I'm 38.  I'll be 39 next week, actually.  I babysit.  I can't decide if that's lame or not - I mean, I should have other plans or something right?  Something to do on a Saturday night other than hand out with toddlers?  But, since I gave up dating...oh wait, that only freed up one Saturday night...per year. 

The point is, several of my close friends have started families recently - and being a complete kid friendly person with a small obsession for toys...Babysitting and I sort of reconnected.  I guess it's a good thing, really - I'm a grown up, responsible, unfazed by screaming children, own my own car...and can share cocktails at the end of the night.

I think I fell back into it accidently - and then found it to be enjoyable.  At someone else's house, I'm not bothered with thoughts of "I should do laundry" or "I need to vacuum."  The dog isn't bugging me to go out. I'm not fighting the cat for couch space.  It's like a one night vacation.

Plus, there's nothing quite as fun as raiding someone else's cabinets...especially since mine are generally filled with stupid 'healthier' food.

But here's the thing.

Babysitting has changed!  First off, from what I hear - kids rake in the CASH babysitting.  When I was a teenager, I felt loaded if I got five bucks an hour to babysit three or four kids for a night.  I hear the going rate now it ten dollars plus.  Which, in my opinion, is ridiculous for a gig that mostly involves watching tv.  Man, give me a hit of gas money, and I'm golden.

More importantly, where the hell did this Diaper Genie thing come from??  Back in the day, when I had to walk to my babysitting gigs in three feet of snow wearing stone shoes (yes, it was uphill both ways)...there were no such luxuries.  I had to change a diaper - and then walk the used one outside to the garbage.

So you can only imagine my excitement at my first chance to use the DG. 

Fail.

I had no more idea how to use that thing that I would to actually birth a baby.  I thought I could just drop the diaper in there and it would go to some magical powdery smelling utopia. 

Nope.  Put the diaper on the hole and it just sat there. 

I pushed it down a bit thinking I must have to trip some kind of suction that would grasp the diaper from the brink of humanity and take it to a place where it could make nice with its dirty friends.

Nope.  No suction.

Of course I then tried spinning the diaper myself - shaping it into a bullet like object.  When you take a packet full of poop and try making it more narrow, guess what happens?  Genie, my ass.

Another wonder of 2010 Babysitting?  The video camera monitor.  Again, in my day...if I wanted to check on the sleeping child...I'd have to unwrap myself from the throw, peel myself off the couch, run through the cabin and up the ladder to see if all was well (this was when Ma and Pa Ingalls were out for the night). 

And I had to do all of this during a commercial break.  There was no pausing the television - we worked on real time in those days.  If I was lucky (and I wasn't always), I wouldn't bite it coming  down the stairs on the way back in my rush to beat the break. 

But alas, no more. Right about the time I stopped babysitting back in college, the monitors starting coming out.  They were little speakers that let you listen in to the baby to make sure he or she was breathing.

Now?  There's a whole mini-tv dedicated to the crib.  I'm not too proud to say - I totally dig it.  The first few times I used it - I was turning it on every three seconds to see what the kid was doing.

Mind you - I'm also obsessed with the San Diego Zoo's Panda Cam...I watch and watch just to see what that little ball of fur is up to.  This is not unlike Baby Cam.  Turns out, babies don't do a whole lot of interesting things when they are sleeping. 

I did spend a whole lot of my first Baby Cam experience trying to figure out why the little light that allowed me to see my little friend didn't wake her up.  I turn it on and off really quick to see what happened - imagining it being like a little baby strobe light. 

Then I realized you could move the camera around - in case, I guess you wanted to see what was happening in the rest of the room?  So, I played with that a bit and then totally freaked out with one of those weird, "What if I see someone standing in there?" thoughts. 

One of my friends even showed me how you can change the monitor channels and view other babies in other houses.  No, do not call the police - this was in the D.C. area...in a townhome complex...you'll never catch her and no harm was done...it was just an accidently viewing. 

I no longer think of babysitting as lame, really - it's more about keeping up with technology.  I mean, there is still a tiny bit of hope that I might have my own kid one day - I just want to be prepared.  I can say for sure I've mastered Baby Cam.  Diaper Genie - still no clue...but there's hope...I've got some free nights coming up for more research. 

This time, though, I'll be bringing long rubber gloves.

Is it time for Midnight Madness?

Know what I'm doing right now? 

First off, it's Friday night.  It's the second week in March.

A week before March Madness starts, to be precise. 

Well, to be fair...it's a pretty normal activity for a Friday night...and almost normal for the second week in March a week before March Madness starts - in that I'm on the couch with the tv on.  But, here's where things get a little off kilter:

See the problem? 

Do you know who these people are?

Do you know who they aren't?
Here, I'll give you a hint:

Now, before I get too far into this - yes, my State friends...my Duke friends, well...I guess anyone who has a team still playing...gloat away...I can handle it.  I swear.  (I just took another shot of airball juice).

Those ladies?  Well, they are the Real Housewives of Orange County.  And they are on my tv right now reminiscing about the just completed season.  I'm also reminiscing...to another season altogether.

I hope Roy doesn't dig out his piece of last year's championship net and hang himself with it.

Before I became a Southerner (note to the incoming...you have to live here a full ten years before you get your Southerner card - you have to love grits, understand that 'barbecue' is a noun, try chitlins at least once, follow a Nascar driver, call it the 'beach' instead of the 'shore', throw away all snow removal tools, sweaters and boots, stop at the white line instead of a car length over it and be willing to make friends with everyone you stand in line with at Walmart), I liked the Tarheels. 

But, living in Pennsylvania, liking the Tarheels was miniscule.  It wasn't until I moved here to heart of college basketball that I really understood it.  And possibly developed an unhealthy obsession. Here, the seasons aren't Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall - here it's Recruiting, Midnight Madness, Random Games, ACC Matchups and the Big Dance.

And for ten years, I've been able to depend on my Tarheels to carry me through March. And yet, here I sit, learning that other people had tough seasons as well.  Did you know that Vicki and Don almost got divorced last year?  Or that Lynn's husband forgot to tell her that they were out of  money but remembered later when they were evicted?

Usually, when UNC wraps up its season, I wallow from devastation to depression to impatience for the next year. I'm like an addict with nothing to bank on for months...don't get me wrong - this happens even when we win the whole show - I just can't take the end.

Tonight, I'm still trying to come up with the key to the lock that will let out our team's greatness. Thankfully, Coach Williams hasn't called yet for my advice, because I'm at a loss.  All I can really hope for is that during the off season...most of the team will study the endless list of records they broke (games lost, points lost by, baskets missed, games where noone came to play) and  maybe realize they weren't aiming for the right record book.  Which makes sense, since they generally weren't aiming for the right basket either.

I never thought I'd feel actual relief to have the Heels finish early. Sure, I'll continue pulling for our other local teams.  Not all at once - I do have a ranking system for who I like 2nd best, 3rd best etc., in the ACC.  Currently, State has moved to cheering range. Dook...we'll just have to wait and see.

As for next year? Well, I can't wait for it to get started. After Roy takes a break - and I hope he does...I mean, if I'm frustrated, I can only imagine how he feels...this is probably the first time he's spent a Friday night watching Bravo, too.

My only idea so far:

There's fire in that little lady's eyes!

Smell That?

I'm going to admit right from the get go that I don't know what the plural of Crocus is.

I can smell snow. Most anyone that has spent a significant time in the North can smell snow.  It's a change in the air just before it comes. I'm not sure my southern family believes snow can be predicted by scent, but it's absolutely true.  And on the flip side...here in North Carolina... it smells like S-P-R-I-N-G!

It's now day four of Crocus Stalk 2010. This happens every year at about this time (well, Crocus Stalk happens...last year it was Crocus Stalk 2009, etc). Sometime in Mid-February, I start staring at the flower bed that runs down the front of my house - hoping, praying, urging for something to make an appearance. Just one little speck of a petal to help me believe that winter really won't last forever. 

And boy, did I need it this year - phew! 

I'll let my friends from the North just skip ahead now - go on....just pick back up further down where I give you a shout out. 

We had a harsh winter here!  I know this because, yet again, when I opened my gas bill today, there were three numbers next to the dollar sign instead of the traditional two that I've come to love and appreciate.  We beat our average snow fall - of seven inches - for the season.  I actually had no idea we even had an 'average snowfall' expectation until this year.  I thought we only tracked droughts and humidity levels.  Who knew!

I'll admit it, living in the South means you get to play up the snow a little bit.  True, we are short on plows. True, we don't have an unlimited supply of Brine for the roads. True, there are plenty of people that live in the south that don't drive well in rain, let alone snow. And after living here for ten years, I'm becoming one of them. Turns out, it's not like riding a bike at all.  Unless that bike has no tubes on its rims and you are treking down a mountain of olive oil.

And let's not forget the ice storm of two-thousand-something - when most of Raleigh (including yours truly) spend up to 12 hours at a dead stop on the major highways after a freak afternoon storm. 

(Northern Friends...here's your shout out...you can start reading again).

This is why Crocus Stalk is extra exciting this year - after record breaking strings of freezing days...we are finally turning the corner! My Crocus Flowers have tried twice to come up this year - only to be stomped back down by Old Man Winter.  This weekend, they really went for it. All along the front path, tiny sprout of green are sneaking through the mulch aiming heavenward. Oh, a sight for my wintery eyes!

And with the Crocus comes open windows, slid-back sunroofs, car washes, cleaner garages...and the Smell of Spring! It's fresher and cleaner and warmer and grassier. Spring makes me motivated - it's the only time during the year that I feel okay about sending shoes and purses to Goodwill; it's one of the handful of tiems each year that I really clean the kitchen floor (like hands and knees clean); it's when I return to a regular shaving schedule.

You might think after reading all this that Spring is my favorite season.  Hell no, I say.  I'm actually the biggest fan of summer - and Spring is just my first glimpse to the days of heat and humidity.  Mind you, my motivation level drops significantly when it's 100 degress and 90% humidity - but man, I love that heat. 

Now that Crocus Stalk 2010 has been marked a success, I'll move into Daffodil Watch. Soon to be followed by Roses, Lantanas, Lilies, Marigolds and more - oh, the smells of Spring...welcome back, my friend!

Aaah, Dating.

Someone was kind (?) enough to remind me of last March's speed dating escapade - and that 'oh so funny' quip I wrote about it.  The quip being the only good thing to come out of the night.  In honor of the anniversary of that night approaching (hey, lay off, I have nothing else to celebrate)...here it is in re-runs....

Now for the history (in case you live under a rock)...my dating life is a rotation of effort and evasion.  During the effort phases, I equate it to trying on bikinis.  Every day.  While bloated.  Which then leads to evasion as I decide there is no point in purposely beating myself up over and over. 

Oh yeah, I've tried the 'business deal' method - dating with the attitude that it's really just about deal making.  I'm not good at that either.  I've tried all the websites, the local meet-ups, the friends of friends...and finally the speed dates.  Which is what the story below covers.  Yes, it is a year old - but it still makes me laugh and gives me an excuse to remain on the fence.

March 14, 2009:
"Sometimes I get tired of all of you asking "Why are you single? You're SO great!" Yeah, I know I'm great, okay?  So, now and then as a thank-you for the props, I'll throw you a bone. Saturday night, I went Speed Dating. Just for you.

19 dates in two hours. 19 break ups later...

Here are some of the gems (names changed, obviously. I'm great, not cruel. No, wait, that might not be true either).

Mr. Whitters: So named because when he asked where I moved here from and I said, "Outside of Philadelphia." His reply was "Oh, do you know Mr. Whitters?". Of course I answered yes so as not to destroy his pipedreams of only two people living in Pennsylvania.

Ricky A: His handshake was SO feminine that I thought I came to the wrong event.

Ricky B: When a man starts with "I have two cats that I adore..." send up the red flag.

Nutjob: Obese man describing his pilates and yoga workouts. All I could think is "I wonder how often he farts in the Warrior Pose"

My Ex Wife is Sick: He started by trying to be all hip about an event going on at another bar and how annoying it was to get parking. When I explained that the event was a fundraiser for children with cancer...he justified himself by pointing out that his ex-wife is in Chemo right now. But she lives down the street so he is still able to take care of her.

Drugs: When I asked what he did for a living (okay, I said, "So what do YOU do?"). His answer was "Drugs." No elaboration. Just awkward silence...

Ling: The cute little Chinese man first tried to convince me he was from South Africa. Here's the thing though (and I confirmed this later). No one could understand a WORD he was saying. I started just throwing out answers hoping that I was answering some of his questions.

Figaro: Everybody's seen the guy with the shirt buttoned too low and a giant gold chain peeking out through the chest hair. Although, to be honest, it was my first experience coming from a guy with a wicked southern drawl.

To be fair, there were a few cool guys there. I even opted to meet a few. Obviously they didn't pick me - otherwise I wouldn't be so bitter. As always, I made new friends with a few girls. No, I'm not getting on the other swing...I'm just saying...wtf?"
 
Today's phase is evasion - obviously that could change at the drop of "I know this great guy" by anyone I encounter.  But, two things recently came up ~ 
1.  I was sad not to have to go to Physical Therapy anymore because I was going to miss the male contact and thus a reason to shave my legs regularly. 
2.  I started looking at my Facebook Friends with a "wait a minute, how does so-and-so have a relationship and I don't?" attitude.
 

When I start picking on my virtual friends or considering stalking medical professionals...I figure it might be time for a break.  Which is always easier said than done - so many people tell me 'you'll find him when you stop looking!' that whenever I stop looking, I actually keep looking because that's when I'll find him, right? 

You're not old enough to wear scrubs.

I had a visitor this week! My niece, Jamie, flew down from Philly to spend some quality time with her Cool Aunt Jyl...it was such fun, but my heart had a few hiccups.  Starting with her being on Spring Break, from c-o-l-l-e-g-e.  I have to spell it out because I still have a hard time believing that she isn't still figuring out the combination to her first real locker.  Yes, she's in college, studying to be a nurse - a profession I am completely unqualified for (proof of that later). 

This is a picture of Jamie a mere eight months ago, at her high school graduation dinner.  The point isn't that she is texting during dinner - it's that when she arrived here she said, "I've been wanting to get my hair cut FOREVER." (If you remember last weekend, my friend, Anne Marie, started off with a similar statement - "I want a new car," and by Saturday afternoon, the deed was done.) 

And so, I took a similar approach to Jamie's new hairdo...I packed her in the car and drove her to the nearest pseudo-salon with my iPhone at the ready with pictures of Katie Holmes. A half hour later, we had this.

A super-chic-cute-as-can-be-easy-to-manage-college-girl-hairdo.  Won't her friends be surprised when she steps off the plane?  I even think I saw Tom Cruise do a drive-by looking for his pretend-wife.  Mind you, Jamie has had the same hair style for, um, ever.  Beautiful brown hair running past her shoulders.  But every gal needs a change at some point in her life - and what better way to do it than with the one thing that will actually grow back.

Here's a picture from the front (Dear Summer...I love Best Camera for iPhone...thanks for telling me about it!).  This was on day one - we were still figuring out the proper way to style it...we totally won the battle and I'm sending her home with some extra tools (I tend to buy hair tools the same way I buy shoes - with little regard to what I already have).  Look how grown up she is!  Oh, there's another heart hiccup.

Favorite moment of the weekend for me?  When Jamie told her boyfriend how handy I was, because I "changed all the lightbulbs in my house by myself."  WHAT?????  She meant to say fixtures, I swear.  Like the actual fixtures where you have to turn off the breaker and stand on a ladder and hold wires in your mouth because you have no spouse. 

Then there was the trip to the Red Cross to donate blood - man, I bet everyone wishes they could vacation at my house.  As we were waiting our turn, another donee passed clear out.  Now, here's how most people react to such instances - "Oh, how can I help! Do you need me to assist in lifting her? Water? A Fan?" I know this because these are the things I heard.  While I focused all of my attention on the inside of my purse while praying that no one asked me to help in anyway.  This is why I will never be a nurse. 

And now for another heart hiccup moment.  My lil niece...my cute lil tiny niece who surely isn't even old enough to drive yet...bought a bunch of Scrubs at Walfart.  Yes, scrubs - like the things that people who work in hospitals wear (sidenote: they don't sell scrubs at Walfart in Philly...so to find them there was super exciting and CHEAP!). 

Why would she need such things??  Surely she isn't getting old enough to have an actual career? I mean, I just went to her high school graduation five minutes ago - how can this be? 

I guess the bonus is - I still rate.  She's gottten older, grown up...and yet, I'm still her Cool Aunt Jyl.

And someday when I'm in Assisted Living and she's passing out our chocolate puddings in her latest pair of funky scrubs...I hope she remembers that and slips me two.