Emily and I were wondering if you would be interested in an occasional Tony Takeover. Every once in a while I would post a blog instead of Emily. You would get a glimpse into our lives told from a whole different perspective. I know it’s going to be fun for me, and I hope it’s fun for you. Let me and Emily know what you think about this idea in the comments. And now, for a story.
This story is about communication. It is very cliché to say that communication is key, but some clichés are pretty accurate. Over all Emily and I communicate pretty, but we are also both people pleasers. This usually helps out a lot in our marriage, but sometimes having two people pleasers and a lack of communication in a relationship really backfires. Enter the story of The Pepperoni Pizza.
College was a great time for Emily and me. We worked hard, we had a lot of fun in Athens, Ga (which I have a few other stories about if you are interested), but the one thing we were short on was money. We didn’t really know we were short on cash, and we were always able to make our budget work, but, when a great deal for pizza came around, we couldn’t/wouldn’t pass it up. The Papa John’s in Athens had such a deal. You could get a large one topping pizza for $3.99 on Tuesdays (I imagine this is no longer the case, but it would be awesome if it were). So, a lot of Tuesdays Emily and I ate pizza. But, before you order a pizza, a common discussion takes place, “What kind of pizza do you want?”
For Emily and I, whoever replied to the “what kind of pizza” question, would allows reply with, “I don’t know, what do you want?” (A common answer, I’m pretty sure.) And now the problem has set in. Emily and I are now intertwined in a delicate and sophisticated people pleasing dance. My goal, no, my job is to try and guess what kind of pizza she wants; all the while, trying to keep a poker face so as to keep her from guessing my pizza topping of choice. The curse of the people pleasers is that if you are the one that is pleased, you have lost the game, and, with Emily and me, it was a battle.
One point in our past, I remember Emily ordering pepperoni pizza. She seemed to like pepperoni pizza. So, when Emily would ask, “What kind of pizza do you want?” I would answer, “pepperoni.” And you for the longest time, we would get a pepperoni pizza for the basement bargain deal of $3.99 on Thursdays. And we were both happy with it.
Unfortunately, Emily and I were not really happy with the pizza. We were happy because we both thought we had won the people pleaser battle. I picked a topping I knew she liked, she got me to tell her which topping I wanted. We were both happy and ate pepperoni pizza, content in the fact that the other enjoyed it. And here enters the communication breakdown (yes, that is a nod to Led Zeppelin). I don’t really like pepperoni, but I thought she did. Emily doesn’t really like pepperoni, but she thought I did. We had been eating pepperoni pizza for at least 4 months (it might be closer to six), before one of us, I think it was Emily, finally confessed her true feelings.
We ate pizza we didn’t really like for months!! All because we couldn’t/wouldn’t communicate. So yes, communication is key, and I don’t care how cliché it sounds. It could have saved me and my taste buds months of eating pepperoni pizza if I had only told Emily, “you know, I’m not actually a big fan of pepperoni. Why don’t we try something else.” So please communicate with those around you, it could really save you, or, in my case, at least save your taste buds.
We didn’t eat pepperoni pizza for years after that. But here’s the kicker, it’s our kids favorite. We get it all the time now.
So yeah, there’s a small taste of tales from my perspective. If you want to hear more, let me know. And, as always, thanks for reading.
I got a request from a reader to write about my marriage to Tony. If anyone else has any suggestions let me know.
Ah, wuv, twoo wuv!
Tony and I dated for 4 years before we got engaged. Our relationship up to that point certainly was not perfect. We had already broken up twice. Each time was a dreadfully, emotionally taxing, tear-filled hour to hour and a half until we got back together. Both times for silly reasons because I have a trait that is purely unique compared to other women where I read too far into things and create problems where there were not any. *wink*
I suspected the “question” would be coming up shortly when I discovered some of my rings missing from my jewelry box and knew Tony had taken them for sizes to get just the right ring. I was excited and didn’t say anything to him because, even though I knew it was coming, I wanted to feel surprised. Tony has never been good at taking initiative on gifts and surprises, so I was very excited to see what he had planned for this memorable moment in our lives.
Finally, the fairy tale moment arrived. I came home one evening after classes and work to a house (trailer) filled with lit candles. It was beautiful and I was touched. Then, I saw Tony, standing over by the dining table waiting for me with dinner all set out and ready. He said he made me dinner and then we sat. Then we started to eat. Then he started some small talk. We continued to eat. It got a little awkward, surrounded by candles, huge sweeping romantic moment it was supposed to be and we just chewed chicken in silence with a few awkward words in between. Then, like infinity and 20 minutes later, he shuffled off his chair and got down on one knee and sputtered out some loving, adorable words, and finally, placed the ring on my finger. The ring he had been so careful preparing for and sizing and researching. He had swiped three of my size 7 rings, taken them with him in shopping, picked out a ring, then carefully placed the beautiful size 4.25 on my finger. It didn’t go past the first knuckle.
Let’s skip ahead 1.5 yrs when we finally got married. It was the summer after my first year in vet school. Tony was working as an OR nurse at UGA vet school in Athens and we were planning to get married at my dad’s house – the one I grew up in. We were trying to keep costs down in any way possible. The most money I spent on individual things was my dress – bought on clearance for <$500 – and the tent. We had the most amazing friends and family who contributed to the affair. My uncle (the absolute best cook of meats on the grill) cooked barbecued chicken and pulled pork. My cousin’s wife is a pastry chef and made my cakes. (Good cakes too – not covered in fondant – red velvet, chocolate with peanut butter icing, strawberry, and something else that was amazing I just can’t remember.) A friend of Tony’s family volunteered to be the photographer to build her portfolio. Tony’s youth minister was the preacher marrying us. Tony’s mom, a hair stylist, did all the wedding party’s hair. My cousin played the guitar for the ceremony on a rocking chair on the front porch of the house – he played “Time in a Bottle” when I walked down the aisle.
Uncle Ward – master grillerKim – master baker, but helping with veil. Fabric like $13 at a craft store. Ring of flowers picked and braided that day by me. Tony’s mom (in the middle) – master hair dresser. My mom on the left sewing my veilJeff – master musician
We used my MP3 player just plugged into the sound system that came with the tent for music during the reception, we went out and bought all the decorations including mostly fake flowers and peacock feathers, but we also went to the flower shop the morning of the wedding (which was also the day before Mother’s day) and bought up all of their flowers that were white or purple and made due. We borrowed tables and chairs from the church the youth pastor was from.
The ceremony started. It was a balmy evening with a romantic haze (okay, it was smoke from the Florida fires.) My cousin beautifully played acoustic guitar. The wedding party came down the aisle. Then the ring bearer (my niece from my sister); then the flower girl (my niece from my brother) who made about 3 circles around a tree before she was finally ushered onto the aisle. Then I came down and the preacher started talking. We had written our own vows and it was all going beautifully when the deep guttural sound of a choking dog pierced the serenity. People tried to ignore it, but there was my beloved childhood dog, Maybelle a lab/pointer thing (nowadays maybe called labrointer or a pointador, but back then, just a mutt) chewing on a deer leg – she was fine, but my mother was mortified.
Tony with ring bearer and me with flower girl
The preacher finally announced that we were married and told us we could kiss when I was attacked. Like it was going to fall off, Tony grabbed my head in both hands and kissed me so suddenly I was more stunned and embarrassed than flattered. (I’ve never been much for PDA anyway). I even tried to push him away a little. After that, we announced the reception would be in the back yard and would everyone please grab the chair they are sitting on and carry it to the reception – again, my mother was mortified.
Notice the fist in his abdomen – preacher thought it was funny
The reception was laid back and fun, we ate rich southern dishes such as barbecue, macaroni and cheese, lemonade, sweet tea, and red velvet cake. Our first dance song was “Dance, Dance, Dance” by the Steve Miller band. We had a dry reception on the surface for the benefit of my grandmother who was stringently against drinking alcohol, but we had a keg stored behind a flap of the tent. Unfortunately, the word didn’t get out that there was alcohol because of the fear that my grandmother would find out, so only a few people partook. By the end of the night, Tony and I left for our hotel where we were staying before we left for Greece the next morning. My dad’s side of the family, though, probably the only ones aware of the remaining keg, stayed. My siblings and cousins all stayed up past midnight drinking and jamming out to the music on one of their car stereos, which then died and had to be jumped off. Somebody passed out in the grass and got eaten up by fire ants. Somewhere around that time my dad awoke to them blasting and yelling out the lines to “Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer which he thought was appropriate for the situation.
Cake is so funny!So graceful…K, bye!!
Our trip to Greece was another fun adventure. Maybe another blog.
Warning: stream of conscience type writing to follow so if you’re not a fan of James Joyce – whom I was forced to read in high school as a “classic” and thought he was a little overrated. I mean, I feel like literary critics/buffs sit down to read these things, see that the grammar is not atrocious, but fall asleep in the middle of it, snort awake and shout “Classic!” so as not to lose face in front of their peers. Where was I going with this? oh, yeah – then you probably won’t like this post. Also; religion; racism; and homophobia.
One time, when I was on a farm call for a cow, I don’t even remember what for, but I remember at the end of it, the farmer was so impressed with my demeanor he said “You must have been raised in a church. I can tell” I was certainly flattered, I understood what he was trying to say, but he was wrong.
I was raised in the deep south where EVERYONE had a church, normally southern Baptist, but some heathens (according to the Baptists) that were Methodist. I was raised without God. My parents were considered “hippy parents” where hippy was a derogatory word in the south. I didn’t mind. Although everyone who has ever called me or my upbringing “hippy” have never been able to consistently tell me what that means, I still ask anyone who says it. I took it as a compliment because if being “hippy” means caring for EVERYONE, loving and respecting everyone no matter who they are or what they believe (kind of like Jesus), then I was okay with that. No. I was proud of that.
My only experiences with church when I was growing up was to go when we visited grandma and occasionally if I had a sleep over with a friend who went to church. Both sets of my grandparents lived in Abbeville, GA. Wilcox county. My parents were next door neighbors when they met. Just to give you a feel of this place, they made national news when they had their FIRST racially integrated prom in April of 2013 (NOT 100 years ago, 7, less than S.E.V.E.N. years). My father has an experience when he was a child where he was going to church and a small group of young black men came up to the church steps and were stopped. They asked, very peacefully, if they could come in and worship, but the deacons all lined up to block their way and they were turned away.
When my sister became pregnant with a black man’s child, she received a letter from my very dear grandmother. A woman who had dedicated her life to worshipping Jesus; had never missed a day of church unless tragedy struck; volunteered for any and all events to help others; spent her last years when she could no longer walk knitting hundreds of sweaters for children in need; had even been one of the first teachers to volunteer to teach at the first integrated school when my mother was a child. A woman, who sent my young, scared-senseless sister a letter stating how disappointed she was in her and how much shame and teasing my sister would bring her family, but what was worse than anything to her was how my grandmother’s church would never be able to accept the child.
Then, of course, there were the friends I had who were avid church goers but would state things like “but if I ever brought a black man home, my father would kill me!” or “they need to stop blaming the system and just go out and get a job” then turn around and ask the receptionist if the person calling asking about a job “sounded black” because he “didn’t care, but some of the clientele might” and yet somehow, these people still claim not only to be not racist, but also followers of Jesus (not white). I won’t even get started on the unmentionables such as homosexuality – I mean we all know that’s why God is destroying the earth through global warming – which is also a hoax. *insert sarcasm* – my sister (you know, the one that shamed our family with her mixed race child – the child who, by the way, is now 20 and excelling in a pre-med degree at CSU) is a meteorologist (not on TV) and dedicates her life to studying weather patterns.
So, you can see why, as a young person, church was not attractive to me. I was raised by parents to love everyone and treat everyone with respect and people who I would think should be the epitome of love and acceptance were some of the worst. I started attending a church when I started dating Tony as his family were avid goers. I was attending a Sunday school session with one of the deacons when there was a small argument/discussion about how Jesus would only accept those pure of heart and how homosexuals were evil (or whatever) and I finally spoke up and said “Jesus said to love everyone, Jesus IS love, we should love everyone as we love Jesus” and the older, very bald man wearing thick black rimmed glasses (think Judge Doom from Roger Rabbit ’88) stared down at me – a teenage girl daring to speak to a grown man – with a half smirk and said “I’m not talking about that HIPPY love!” and went on with his speech.
I eventually moved to Michigan and had children that I thought might benefit from some socialization. We picked a church rumored to have a fantastic youth/childcare program and started attending. I went there with a chip on my shoulder and lots of grains of salt, prepared to put up my mental dukes and a wall around me. It wasn’t as I expected. The message was about love and acceptance and I began to soften. We joined a small group trying to get more involved and to further socialize our young children as Tony was a stay-at-home dad back then. It was there that I was introduced to the most lovely group of people I have ever met associated with a church. They taught me so much, including how every sin is equal in God’s eyes, but that He loved us so much that all those are forgiven. So, let’s say for a moment that homosexuality is a sin – so is going out in public while I’m on my period or wearing clothes of two different materials or eating shellfish. We’re all sinners, so we should stop telling each other that; just let it go and love and support each other.
These people because some of our best friends and their kids became by kids’ best friends. It was so refreshing to attend a church and socialize with people where it was all about love and acceptance. I slowly started coming out of my shell. I had always been afraid for people to know I was Christian because I knew how I felt about Christians or ones proclaiming to be in what I had seen. I knew that if someone came up to me and asked me to talk with them about Jesus, I would have immediately written them off and gone about my day. I’ve been in several groups of Christians that admit to not having any non-Christian friends because they feel like it will soil them or their children.
I would say that most of my friends are NOT Christian and I love that. I don’t take every opportunity we have together to bring it up, not even close. Some of my friends may not even know how passionately I seek answers. I tend to be drawn to the emotional train wrecks the most. Some of them seem to turn around and have ended up happy. Most of them stay about where they are, some of them (okay – one of them) completely blocked me out of his life. I guess I’ll just keep trudging along like Forrest Gump running across the country; happy for companions, sad for the ones I’ve lost, but not dragging anyone along.
So, against my better judgement, but keeping in tune with my “what comes up comes out” description someone once gave me, I responded to that farmer who made a statement about my upbringing with “No, actually, I wasn’t. I was just raised by parents to be a decent human being and to love everyone no matter what.” He acted a bit put off, but then brushed it off and thanked me for helping him.
Now, for some pictures of God’s creations
Little Stony Man, Shenandoah National Park, VAGeorgia AquariumVirginia SnowVirginia sunrisePictured Rocks, Michigan – upper peninsula Glen Arbor, MINorth Manitou Island, MI
This particular blog is set out to let you see us and hopefully answer some common misconceptions about us. Vets are people pleasers; they are hard workers who like to fix things. We will go out of our way to make sure you are getting the care your animal deserves. We hate to not know what is wrong with your animal and we hate more not being able to make it better. Sure, there will be bad eggs out there, vets that just want to shuffle you along in the line of patients they have, some that want to make the most money off of you that they can, but, for the vast majority of us, we just want to help. We all worked REALLY hard in vet school and are still working just as hard to better our techniques, better our medicine, learn what is working better. We have entire social networks dedicated to sharing information and sharing what works for us and asking for help with cases. Tens of thousands of veterinarians constantly reaching out for help from vets all over the country and even the world, with tens of thousands open to helping and giving advice. Even board certified surgeons, internists, etc are answering some of our questions on some of these hard cases. I’m no 100% certain, but have asked human doctors and, to my knowledge, they don’t have this.
“Vets are just in it for the money, if they cared about animals, they would do it for free/less.” – Other than world famous veterinarians, the vast majority of us make much less than you would think. Modern veterinary school tuition is anywhere from $20,000/year to $60,000/year (tuition and fees ONLY – not rent/living expenses/food) for 4 years. So, at best, we are paying approximately $150,000 for the degree alone, including undergrad (4 years). Then, you have to factor in at least 4 years of lost financial gain where you couldn’t work enough to pay for rent/food – we had class from 8am to 5pm then ate something non-nutritional, started our IV drip of cowboy coffee and studied from 6pm to 12am/6am depending on if there was an exam (or 3) the next day- so add another $50,000 (depending on the state you lived). So, graduate with $200,000 in the hole. Unless you or your parents are independently wealthy (and they don’t hate you), you will have to take out a loan for this. In our country, interest rates can vary between 5% and 8+%, meaning that some of us pay upwards of $1200/month just to cover interest. One vet I know has paid $50,000 over 5 years toward her loan, but owes $80,000 more than when she graduated. One tells me she earns an extra $41/day in interest. Per. Day.
So, fresh out of school, with a $200,000 hole in your bank account. You get your first job, like I did, making $42,000/yr. , then, after 3 years, upgrade to $65,000. Now, you have a family, a mortgage, and other expenses to pay such as daycare so you and your spouse can actually go to work. So, you make $4000/month after taxes. You have costs of ~ $4200/month to live (these are figures from a time in my own life including only mortgage in a really low cost area, car payment, electric, daycare, gas, health insurance for the family – mine was covered by the company – and food – does not cover medical bills, car repair, other random bills) plus your $1200 interest-only payment. Your monthly costs are now at a minimum of $5400 meaning you make -$1400/month (that’s negative $1400) for being a DOCTOR. For having studied for 8 years, for continuing to upgrade and improve your knowledge as fast as you can, for bending over backwards, staying extra hours to work on a case, personally taking animals home to make sure they get the right care, crying in frustration or tragedy if the animal is not improving or dies. For storing every single one of those losses in our memory, but never seeming to remember the successes.
Some older vets may throw their younger colleagues under the bus and say that vets charge too much these days. Vet school tuition in the 60s was approximately $350 PER. YEAR, in the 80s; $1600/yr and calculated with inflation that translates to 60s: $2800/yr and 80s: $3900/yr compared to $50,000/yr now (that’s almost an 1,800% increase). I’ve had people argue with me and say “well, if you can’t afford vet school, you shouldn’t attend it.” My question is “would you rather have the best and the brightest working on you or your animal, or do you just want the rare rich folks who actually want to be a vet doing it?” – just like a larger country or state is more likely to get good athletes, a larger field of people to pull from will get better vets.
So, we don’t make a ton. Let’s talk costs of veterinary medicine. Every piece of equipment we use in a vet hospital – blood analyzers, ultrasound, x-ray, surgical instruments, gloves, syringes – all of it – is the same equipment used in human medicine and they all cost a pretty penny. Granted, they probably cost a human hospital as much as they do us, but a human hospital can charge you 10-100x what we charge for the same procedure because of insurance (*cough* “SCAM” *cough*). These are the same procedures we do with the same amount of training that goes into performing and interpreting them, but often with less wait time.
Another difference between human medicine and veterinary medicine is the way we look at our patients. In a human hospital (I imagine for the most part), patients are priceless family members and the best treatment is often not a question. In veterinary medicine, there are two very different views of the patients and a full spectrum in between. On one side, we have the pets that are considered family members, that go everywhere and do everything with their owners. Some are the only children our clients will ever have. Some are the last remaining piece the owner has of a deceased child or spouse to whom the pet belonged. Even mentioning cost of care could be insulting to them, because, obviously, this is their child and money is not a concern (though, sometimes “money is not a problem” means they don’t have any money =) and OF COURSE they will do whatever is the absolute best.
On the other side of the spectrum (which is not wrong) is people who view animals as animals. As possessions with monetary value. Some may be farm animals or hunting dogs, or barn cats and the idea of spending any amount of money above the animal’s perceived economic value is completely absurd. So, you had better discuss costs with these people before doing anything because if they walk out with a $200 bill for a barn cat, they will have a conniption.
Without a client making it perfectly clear to us where on the spectrum they stand, we offer all the options from the most ideal to the most conservative. This can make people mad. If the client is on the “my dog is my child” side they may get offended that you would even offer something that’s not the absolute best and, therefore, question your credibility as a doctor. If they are on the “it’s just a dog” side they may feel that you are pushing them to feel guilty to spend more money because you are just money hungry. Even if a client agrees to the most economic route, even if you explain all the potential risks of not doing the ideal option (again, not necessarily to push guilt, but to cover our butts) and the client signs a waiver, this still does not guarantee they will not or cannot come back at you later and sue or go for your license.
So, yes, vets are in it for the money… but mostly the love of animals, science, and fixing things. We love animals, but we must make money to live, to support our children. I’ve never heard of someone telling a car mechanic they shouldn’t charge money and just fix the car because they love it. (but perhaps they have heard that) We want to help you and your animal. That’s all we want. Please consider all of this next time you are upset with a vet bill. Consider the area that you live. The same procedure in Boulder, CO is going to be much more expensive than in Clare, MI – the same size house is about 7x the cost.
Can’t wait to see you and your animal next time!!
Pictures of my pets: 3 out of 4 of them are hazards of the job that I love!
Delphi – adopted the old fashioned wayMerlin – saved from being euthanized at 3 days old for a mangled leg that had to be amputated the next dayPenelope – found nearly frozen to death in a ditch – died once during revival. Catina – brought in for euthanasia as kitten due to severe upper respiratory infection that had ruptured her eyes.
Now, for something more on the light hearted side.
So, you’ve decided to bathe your young children?
1. Contemplate whether they really, truly need a bath. I mean, they just had one, like, ….. well, let’s see: India started with her braided hair, then down the next day, then ponytail, then beavertail because she slept on it and apparently spends the entire night following the fan blades with her face. So.. like 2,3, was it really 5 days ago?? They probably need a bath.
2. Prepare yourself, mentally. This is possibly the most important step to the entire process. You may think I’m about to suggest having a drink before you start, but, oddly enough, children tend to elicit the opposite response of alcohol on a sane adult and will only shorten your patience. No, you need to pre-plan a bath at least 15 minutes to a couple of hours, and maybe, even a few days (when you get to ponytail, you’ve still got a couple of days) ahead of time to make it through this trying time. Envision the bath going well (yes, you may giggle), see the children cooperating with getting into the bath, getting properly wet, and keeping all the water in the tub.
3. Make sure you allow yourself and the children adequate time for the bath before bedtime. You haven’t seen a mutiny until you tell children they have to take a quick bath (with NO bubbles!?!) as it’s five minutes to bedtime. Make sure to calculate for the time you will spend loudly vocalizing for the 14th time to take their clothes off, that they can’t ALL pee in the toilet at once, wipe your pee off the floor and your brother, and then the “chase time” immediately following the bath.
4. Gently and lightly mention to your husband that you think it might be bath time, making sure you mean it if you say it audibly enough for him to hear.
5. Watch children lose their ever loving minds, ripping around the house like a Labrador or Boxer when you mention going for a walk.
6. Help children tripping over their own clothes as they attempt to shed them before even getting to the bathroom. You will also have the straggler who will attempt to get into the bath having only removed his pants – gently coax him out of the bath while reminding him he needs to be naked and go potty first and then watch him melt down as his brother is already peeing in the toilet and knows he will then get to the bath first (every time).
7. Help your daughter get into a separate bath/shower if she needs it, but lets be honest, she’s independent and will take care of herself for the most part – discussion on hair to follow. (Note: all three children bathed together at one time until opposite gender curiosity and shear mass of 130lb of wriggling bouncing flesh in one small bath like a small pot of boiling potatoes).
8. Allow the kids to pick colors for their bath – most important part. Argue with them incessantly over why they shouldn’t pull ALL the colors in the bath at one time, then realize the point is moot. If they want to bathe in a black lagoon, what do I care?
9. Make sure you aren’t wearing any clothes that you would like to wear the rest of the evening or make a purchase of a oceanic fisherman’s outfit. At this point, I find it most efficient to jump in (not the bath, though I’m not sure I have a good argument as to why not as you are going to be as wet as them anyway), douse the boys in water, attack them with shampoo. Catch the toddler as he runs and screams EVERY time you touch his delicate little head with water. Sometimes, holding him by his face as you rinse his hair may be necessary – don’t worry, it’s tear-free shampoo.
10. All you need to wash is heads, pits, and bottoms – boys apparently get lent rings around their penises if they’re wearing diaper/pull-ups and God knows you can’t trust them to clean these areas thoroughly. Sometimes, if I’m tired or made the mistake of having a drink with dinner, I will just squirt some extra soap in the water, agitate it really good, then close the shower curtain and let them run the spin cycle.
11. Now, they will request play time – which you will concede to because you prepared for this time (couldn’t take their antics any longer and said “BATH TIME”) This is when you will attempt to get some other small house chores done such as cleaning litter boxes or doing some laundry and will feel better about yourself and your superior efficiency when you will hear from the boy’s bathroom “hahahhah! That tickles!” which any parent of young children in the bath will immediately recognize and rush to the bathroom, pull back the curtain and discover what on earth they are doing.
12. Bath time is over. Get out. NOW.
13. Pull the drain as both boys start yelling and crying that they want to stay in the bath longer then, once all the water is gone ask them why they are just standing naked in the empty tub getting cold.
14. Catch each of them as they decide it’s a good idea to jump from the slick side of the tub to the very wet, slick floor. Wrap them in character themed towels and watch as spiderman and an adorable little ducky waddle into the bedroom and then promptly shrivel into a ball on the floor.
15. Remember you have a daughter – your sweet baby girl – STILL HASN’T WASHED HER *bleepidy bleep* HAIR!!
16. Chase children around the house as they squeal and laugh and use their wetness to slip out of your grip as you attempt to prepare them for bed.
17. Get them to bed.
18. Put toddler back in bed
19. Honor toddler’s request for a 5th kiss/hug because he says “pwease maw maw”
I started my young veterinary career in school, knowing, absolutely knowing that I was going to specialize in Equine Theriogenology – or breeding horses. I had taken a course in undergrad where we were assigned a group of mares and then were responsible for monitoring their estrus cycle via ultrasound and palpation and then deciding when and how to breed. We even had to collect the semen from the stallions, process it, and inseminate. I. LOVED. IT. I begged my teacher to be the teacher’s assistant the next year, I got to do it all over again. I love making babies! I spent every opportunity I could travelling to the best equine reproduction facilities in the US learning more, soaking up and loving every drop, every nuance, every manure covered rectal sleeve. Then, I applied for an equine theriogenology residency after my (terrible) internship and got rejected.
I spent that summer after my internship applying for jobs. I had only known large animals to this point and there were no large animal only jobs available that I could find. I knew nothing about small animal medicine other than vague lessons learned in vet school. It was two months later that a student of mine when I was an intern contacted me about the job in South Carolina – a mixed animal practice. It was the first time I would be treating dogs and cats. I had a ton to learn. Luckily, it was a very small practice and very slow with appointments so I was able to go to the back and research for almost every case to start. My boss was also mostly out on the road seeing dairies, so I was often left to my own decisions. Luckily, I had a wonderful tech who had been in the business a long time and was able to teach me most of my methods and help me along. I think it was a fantastic opportunity to really get to learn it down deep without the chaos of a busy practice.
Then, I got the job with Dr. Pol, moved up to Michigan in the middle of February 2014 in one of the harshest winters they’d recently had – we had stopped in Ohio to adjust something on top of the car and the wind was howling with 6 degree weather and Tony claims he was 2 seconds away from leaving me and driving back south. I was lucky enough to have already been in practice for 2.5 years before starting to work with Dr. Pol as it was constant chaos at his clinic. We were often quadruple booked every 15 minutes with only 2-3 doctors working. People waiting an hour to be seen was not uncommon. I had to learn to work fast.
When I first arrived and followed Dr. Pol around, I was absolutely impressed with the shear speed in which he saw patients. He would walk in a room and basically have a diagnosis before examining the animal. I figured that this was just from his years and years of experience and I had mountains to climb to catch up to his efficiency.
It was fun for awhile working as fast as I could, challenging myself to see the most cases every day. Then, slowly, my conscience caught up to me. Was I rushing through cases just to get them done and out? Was I really giving each client their due time and consideration? Was I offering everything I could to the client? I learned along the way that you have NO IDEA what a client is willing to do until it is offered. Dr. Pol’s clinic was in a very low income part of Michigan and you could probably count on 90% of the clients being strapped for money and wanting to try something easy first, but you could never tell which was that 10%. I saw one emergency, a dog that had gone acutely blind that day. I researched and read about it, told him (almost in passing) that the dog would need emergency surgery to save the vision. The man took his dog that day to see the specialist in Michigan, who then referred him to an even bigger specialist in Chicago, and the dog ended up having a $10,000 surgery and saved vision in one eye.
I had also gotten quite sloppy in my record keeping and if I planned on keeping my license for long, I knew I was going to have to be more deliberate with that. So, while at first I was swirled up in the fast pace craziness, I was cheapening my medicine, doing a sloppy job, and also, burning myself out. Working on numerous cases every 30 minutes, juggling multiple cases at once, sometimes even forgetting clients were in the room. It also seemed like the faster I saw cases, the more cases were booked for us to see, so it just kept piling and piling. Finally, after Tony had been working there awhile and saw how the practice was run, he’s the one that instructed me to put on the brakes. Dig my heels in and slow down.
I also joined a DVMoms group on facebook where I was able to air my grievances and get fantastic and supportive feedback. I slowed down, gave my clients more time, wrote complete records and started to restore my sanity. I felt like I could offer clients and their pets much better, quality, care in this way. I would make sure that EVERY client got offered EVERY option with treatment instead of guessing based on the client. I would be sure, though, to not make the client feel bad at all for not being able to afford the most ideal option.
One of the things I liked about working at Dr. Pol’s clinic was that we were able to offer therapies, treatments, and surgeries for much less cost than other vets around – this would eventually bring up the fact that we also didn’t pay staff well. I was able to perform C-sections on dogs and save their lives when the only other option was euthanasia because the surgery was too expensive somewhere else. Our practices were not necessarily the safest or the best, but we were able to give the owner an option other than putting their animal down. Other vets that charge more are able to offer more safety, quality, and options in their care and are able to provide their employees with better compensation. Selfishly, at the time, though, I enjoyed helping the people in need.
Eventually, the stress of working there with three small children, being on-call all the time, new vets coming and leaving just as fast, leaving the on-call duties spread between mostly 2-3 of us. Being on call for me was not a matter of if I got called in, it was how many times – with no extra compensation. I would spend my entire weekend I was on-call at the clinic – my phone rang the other day here in Virginia and Tony said he got that sinking feeling like I was about to have to leave. Six months later, he’s still suffering from “PTSD” – not seeing my children, getting home to have them all squeal with delight that I was home, then getting called back in 10 minutes later and watching them cry or even scream at the door as I left.
I was having more health problems, physically and mentally than I’ve ever had. Suicidal thoughts, even, despite medication. Finally, my therapist and the fine women on the DVMoms group pushed me to reach out and find a better job. I would take a huge hit with the salary, having Nat Geo paying me twice as much as my vet salary, but I had to escape the darkness. So, I found this job that I have now, small animal only. No on-call. Scheduled appointments for each doctor that are 30 minutes long. I feel like I get to have so much better of a relationship with the clients and hear their grievances and really talk to them and educate them about their pet’s health whereas before I would just be rushing them through their main complaint.
God pushed me to leave Dr. Pol. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I finally got my answer in a very odd, non-job-related way, but that story is for another day. I started my vet career with the intention to make lots and lots of baby horses, then I went to mixed animal, and I have currently reached a small animal only – the section of veterinary medicine I knew the least about when I started. I’m even working some shifts at a small animal emergency practice and I. AM. LOVING. IT.
Loving on the barn cats at Clay Knob – miss those fellas!Last 3am uterine prolapse – I was coldLive calf from a uterine torsion – LOVEThe kids say “outlook looks good!”
This is a story about how Tony and I came to dating – it’s not all pretty.
It was my junior year of high school and I was dating the first love of my life or my first long term boyfriend at the time. I was 16 years-old and sure he was the one even though we had only dated for about a year (like, forever in the life of a teenager) and he had already started at a college about 2 hours away. We were going to be long distance and it was going to work.
On the first day of school, in my second to last period in the day – drama – I walked in and sat down at the first desk I saw. Then, this beautiful boy walked in the door. He was a senior. He was very tall, slender build, with dark brown, almost black hair with the perfect amount of curl that hung just below his ears. He had the darkest, thick eyebrows that perfectly accentuated his deep set, brilliant green eyes. My very first and immediate thought was “He’s one of those guys who is so attractive, he won’t even look twice at me”. So, my first action was to protect myself against sure rejection and play it cool. He was automatically placed on my “he’s too good for me” list and was stricken from my mind as a date-worthy possibility. Oh yeah, and also there was my boyfriend, and we were going to be together forever.
I noticed his necklace right away. It looked like a handmade craft beaded necklace and I opened with “I like your necklace.” He said “thanks” and that started our friendship. The third in our group was a fun girl in the ROTC and we had a ball together. Tony and I would always partner up for projects and skits and I quickly discovered his terrible stammering issue. We were one time reading children’s books as an exercise and it took him so long to get through it, it was almost painful, but the longer we knew each other and the more exercises we did, the smoother his speech became. I wouldn’t find out until later that it was because he was nervous around me and that made it so much worse.
At the same time that our friendship was budding and growing without me feeling the slightest clue that ever dating him might be an option, I had my own drama going on in the field of romance. My long distance boyfriend was feeling more and more long distant even though we talked all the time on AIM and he came to visit when he could. I had also joined the cross country team and had started hanging out with the team. I met a guy on the team, broke up with my boyfriend and dated the runner for a very brief period.
I really don’t remember much about my relationship with the new guy. It was very short, and he was very pushy about being physical when I wasn’t really there, myself. I remember one time in particular, he was saying goodbye to me in my garage and we went to kiss goodbye and he basically slowly tackled me to the garage floor so he was laying on top of me while he sloppily kissed me. I was caught off guard to say the least and now I was covered in dirt and being slobbered on. I eventually got up, literally dusted myself off and said goodbye.
The homecoming dance was coming up and my friendship with Tony was growing, but I was still blind to the gift dropped in my lap. I was going to the dance with Mr. Pushy, but still wanted my good friend, Tony to come as well. He was very shy and getting him to go to a social function like this was going to take some effort. One of my other best good friends at the time, did not have a date to go to the dance so I matched her and Tony up to go to the dance with the rest of our group of friends. We had a big group of drama/artsy friends who were all going together to homecoming. We were anything but popular, but ignored that and had a fantastic time anyway. We danced, we laughed, we paid no attention to the homecoming crowning or dancing. I don’t even remember seeing that happen.
For the next few weeks, I was super happy for my friend and Tony. They went out on dates to the movies, went out for hot chocolate, seemed to be a budding relationship and I couldn’t be happier that two of my best friends were hitting it off so well. She was a great friend for me. I never really had very close friends in highschool, but as far as friends went, she was pretty special. She was just as silly and random as I was and made me laugh so hard all the time. We got into trouble writing notes back and forth in English class and one time, the teacher was discussing Moby Dick while she was completely preoccupied with one of the notes I had written her. The teacher noticed her being distracted and called her out and asked “do you have any thoughts on Moby Dick?”. She thought for only a half second and then blurted out “Moby Dick is Jesus!!” to which we all giggled, but the teacher was notably impressed and prodded her to continue. She went on and rattled off some parallels between the two figures and everyone in the class was impressed with her on-the-spot thinking.
Then, along came my high school field trip. I was still dating Mr Pushy and took a class trip to Italy. There we all went dancing at a local discotech in Florence. I was able to find a very tight, very small gold sparkly top (that was also very itchy and uncomfortable) to go with a tight black mini skirt that I borrowed from my friend. Our group of highschoolers went and danced and there were a few local guys at the discotech very excited about all the enthusiastic young girls dancing in their bar. These guys were very forward with us and were dancing all over us. It was then that a guy in our group came over and danced with me to separate the older men from dancing with us. We danced for awhile and then we all walked back to the hotel in the dark with the streets barely lit and it was then he grabbed my hand. I was still only 16 and it meant the world to me.
The rest of the Italy trip, we rode next to each other on the bus and talked a little. I was introduced to heavy metal music and tried very hard to like it, but I think I was growing too boring for him. We kept our closeness secret and didn’t show anyone that we were talking or holding hands and I was hopeful, even though I still had an eager kisser boyfriend waiting for me at home.
The trip ended and I went back to school the next day. I was very excitedly telling all my friends about the trip and all the awesome things we did. Mr Pushy had been on a big, exciting camping trip with his family and, truth be told, I didn’t give him the attention a boyfriend deserves at the time. I also wasn’t sure how to deal with the exciting, new possible relationship I thought had budded in Italy, so I just ignored him, which wasn’t really fair to him. Later that day, I received a very angry note from him (no texting back then, folded paper note) telling me how horrible of a girlfriend I am and cussing me out. So, that ended that relationship.
I thought that I would have a relationship with Mr. Italy next, but I would find out much later from Tony that I was involved in a love triangle. Apparently, I was interested in Mr Italy, Mr. Italy was interested in another girl, other girl was interested in Tony, and Tony was interested in me.
I had started to feel like Tony might have some interest in me as we went along. We would be sitting in the audience, watching other performers in drama class and I would notice that he would mimic the postures I was doing while sitting. At first I thought “uh oh, I’m going to have to start being careful because I’ve got this guy’s attention and my intentions are not the same”. We grew closer and closer, he was slowly becoming my most anticipated friend to see in the day. Then the camping trip came up where a group of my friends all went to the mountains with my mom as a chaperone.
We had a blast, we hiked, the boys threw a LOT of sticks in the river, we played games, watched TV and hiked some more. Then, one night, we were all in the living room, watching TV and Tony and I were passing paper back and forth, drawing funny little cartoons trying to make each other laugh, when I decided to take advantage of the silly mood and wrote him “I like you, do you like me, circle yes or no”. He took awhile and then handed it back and had written “maybe” then crossed it out and checked “yes”. It was such a juvenile moment, yet was so exciting for me as well.
We talked about it more the next day and decided we both liked each other and would see where it would go. We had a blast listening to music on the way home, then reality hit. I had asked about his dating my friend on our trip and he told me they were not dating, that they had just gone out as friends. The next week, MF came up to me and gave me a letter and asked me to proofread it. It was a letter she had written to Tony about how much she cared for him. I was completely thrown off. I didn’t know how to handle this. She had no idea that Tony and I had talked about dating and I didn’t know how to direct her on this one. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her Tony did not think they had been dating, that was for Tony, but I didn’t want to get her hopes up either. So, I read her letter, directed her to make a few changes, then I went and told Tony that he was going to have to deal with this.
He did. She found out we were planning on dating and we were no longer friends. I had mixed emotions at this point. On one hand, I was ignoring the basic laws of friendship and dating her “ex” even though, according to him, they were never dating, but even then, she was still very interested in him. On the other hand, I really liked him and I was being selfish. So, I lost my silly, fun friend.
We’re friends again, facebook friends anyway. I still feel guilty when I think about it.
I found out later that, while I had been juggling guys back and forth since meeting him, Tony had had a crush on me since meeting me.
Me at 16 with my first (and favorite) horse – JinjerCross country raceMy senior prom – no, it wasn’t themed – I’m just a dork
First, and foremost, I want you guys to know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t have a set theme, I more than likely won’t be blogging EVERY day, but I hope it entertains you anyway.
When Tony and I were first married and living in Arnoldsville, GA, just outside of Athens, we were figuring out life. Tony and I both had jobs at the vet school and I was in the process of applying to be a vet student myself. I was out in the ridiculously hot Georgia summer, cutting my grass with a push mower (all we could afford), which in the late summer time was more like pulverizing ash (also just trimming the onion grass and dirt). I was wearing jeans just to protect my legs from the jet propelled pebbles of red clay from being imbedded in my legs forever.
Tony was at work at the time. I was out by the mailbox (about 1/10th mile from the house) when a truck pulled up beside me. I tried to ignore it at first in the noise of the mower as I am a naturally reserved person in person in the hopes it would just keep on driving. It didn’t. I looked up and saw a man in a cowboy hat with another guy in the passenger seat staring at me. I let go of the lever and let the mower engine die. “Can I help you?” I said.
In pretty good English, but thick Hispanic accent, he said “I was wondering if you wanted more work.” Me: “I’m quite busy with my own yard, ha ha!” Then he said what every man says to a woman when he wants to instantly grab her attention: “I work at a horse farm down the road”. At the mention of horse farm, I lost all sense of direction. “Horse farm!?! How wonderful! What kind of horses, how many” (etc). He said “well, why don’t you come over and I’ll show you around”.
“No, I can’t, I have a lot of work to do here” He said “Maybe later then, dinner?” Me “no, I have to cook dinner for my husband” Him “husband!?! you’re married, huh?” “yeah.. ” Him “well, maybe if you don’t have plans tomorrow, you can come over for lunch and I’ll show you around then.” I don’t want my readers to instantly judge me as an easy steal, but you have to understand that there were horses to be seen. At a breeding farm. And he said there were babies – HORSE babies! There is also something you need to know about me and that’s that, at this point in my life, I hadn’t learned to say “no” and didn’t want to disappoint this guy who was trying so hard despite my multiple rejections. So, reluctantly, there on the side of an old country road, sweating like a pig with a healthy coating of dirt and smelling of gasoline and onion grass, I agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger.
Something else you’ll come to find about me. I’m honest. I hate to lie, I’d almost go as far as saying I can’t lie, but that would be a lie. I think lies just complicate life and being honest is so much easier. Of course, as soon as Tony got home that night, I spilled my guts. I told him everything that had transpired and how I was obligated to go on a lunch date with this man. Tony just laughed.
The next day, at lunch time, I drove to the farm. He was just finishing up trimming some bushes when I pulled in. He greeted me, then proceeded to show me around the farm. It was a very lovely farm where the owner hosted numerous weddings, and there were, in fact, a couple of horses (three). We went and got lunch at one of the finest establishments in Winterville at the time (gas station Subway) and then came back to the farm to eat and chat. He was a very nice guy and we talked a lot, but my guilt was catching up to me, knowing that he was really looking for a date. So, I did the only thing an honest girl who was already married could do – I told him my sister, who was living with us at the time was single.
She never let me live that one down. After a couple of hangouts and awkward encounters, including a cowboy in a sushi restaurant, we eventually stopped communicating. I think he was just lonely and wanted some friends to hangout with, he eventually went back to Mexico to be with his family, but the language barrier – strike that – the sarcasm barrier between two languages made it very difficult to communicate. I hope he’s doing well and taking care of his family, he was a really nice guy.
First and foremost, thank you, everyone for subscribing!! We are still trying to figure everything out, so please be patient with us. My husband, Tony, is in charge of running the website and has worked on getting ads added to hopefully help us make a little extra money, but we don’t know exactly what we’re doing, so if (God forbid) something crazy starts happening that is unacceptable or offensive or even annoying, please let us know and we will try to remedy it. My first goal is entertaining and keeping you happy! Also, some of the replies you might get on this site could be Tony. Love you all!!
So, since most of you know me from The Incredible Dr. Pol show, I figured I would give you some back story into how that came to be. I had been working at a mixed animal practice with 50% on call with a egotistical, power hungry boss. Okay, I’ll give you a tiny example – once I was parked at a dairy with the company truck and one of the workers ran into the truck with a tractor, making a smallish 4-5 inch ding in a rear fender. My boss lost his mind and went off on them, me, demanding they pay for it immediately. Mind you, we frequented this dairy 2-3 times a week and it, by itself paid my boss about $20,000 per month in veterinary expenses.
Anyway, I was sick of working there and we were in our second rental house and our landlord had sold the house from underneath us. We had six weeks to move out. I started applying to several different practices locally and across the country. I included in my resume that I was probably going to be having more children. I was honest and open because: 1. That’s who I am and 2. I didn’t want to pick up and move my family to another town or state only to be “let go” and have to move again. My friend, the tech at that clinic I worked pushed me to apply to Dr. Pol when she saw the ad. My first response was “Who would want to live in Michigan!?!?” Having been raised in Georgia and spent the last 2.5 years in South Carolina, Michigan seemed like a stark, desolate wasteland of icy tundra. But, to make her happy (because that’s also who I am) I applied.
My family all went to Colorado that year for Christmas and I hadn’t heard from any of the clinics I had applied for. I was sure I was going to have to go back home and just look for another place to live at my current job and stay there forever. I was standing out on the back porch of the cabin we rented, staring at the stars in the crystal clear sky over the Rocky Mountains and just prayed and prayed (and maybe a little bit of begging) to God to help me and show me the way. I promised Him I would accept whatever He presented to me.
Two days later, I still hadn’t heard anything from other jobs, or from God for that matter, when we were driving home from the Atlanta airport. We had stopped for gas somewhere along the Atlanta Highway for gas when my phone range and it was Dr. Pol. I had not watched the show at all and only knew of it through news articles. I was still star struck, knowing this famous vet wanted me to come interview. I hung up the phone and knew that God had shown me the way.
Another two days and I took a pregnancy test that came up positive. I was thrilled, but then reality hit me when I realized I would have to go interview and admit that I was already pregnant. I considered not telling them, but was, again afraid I would move across country and just have to move back when I got fired for “whatever fits here”. I started my journey to Michigan on a Friday night. Flight got cancelled. Went back Saturday morning, flew to a connecting flight. That flight got cancelled and I had to spend the night at a hotel. I was able to extend my trip into Monday, but had to argue with an airline employee who scolded me for not scheduling an interview flight better, at which I informed her that I had planned on leaving Friday night, and now, because of the lovely airline, would not be flying out until Sunday.
I finally got to Michigan late Sunday afternoon, oooo’ed and awww’ed at all the beautiful snow. Called a real estate agent and asked about a house I had already looked at and finally crashed onto the bed of the hotel. I lay for 2-3 seconds before I mustered up the energy to call Diane Pol and tell her I was here and ready for the interview. During the interview, I eventually informed Diane that I was already pregnant to make sure there was full disclosure.
The next day, I went and saw the house that we ended up buying (which is STILL for sale!! https://www.zillow.com/homes/2931-E-Rosebush-Rd-Rosebush,-MI,-48878_rb/112243628_zpid/) flew home, and found out I got the job a few days later! So, here I am, hopefully still following God’s path. Why did I leave? That will have to be for a later (possibly much later) blog, but I will have to say God works in mysterious ways.
View from our house in Rosebush 2014New baby surviving Michigan winters 2014
Hello, and thank you for coming to read my random thoughts! I have decided to start a blog page about myself, my life, and random observations about the world in an attempt to give hope, inspire, but mostly make you laugh. I enjoy making people laugh, some for attention (otherwise why would I have the nerve to start a blog), but mostly to bring some positive light to the world when all chaos seems to be going on in our everyday lives. I plan to bring some lighthearted humor to everyday annoying situations so that you, too, can laugh at my downfalls and tribulations.
For my first Blog, I think I want to tell you about my brown stethoscope.
When I was in vet school, I got a purple stethoscope – my favorite color! Unfortunately, my dog ate it. So, then, when it was time to buy a new one, I had reached the point in my schooling where my soul and will to live had been adequately crushed (also known as clinical rotations) to allow for “remolding” – or, eventually, being happy with minimal pay for hard, stressful, skilled labor. At that point in my career, I did not exist as an individual and only was out to please my mentors and clients. Knowing that I would be going into large animal medicine, and therefore, be around barns, farmyards, horses, cows, pigs, etc, I wanted to have the best chance I could to be respected. I was convinced, as a girl, I wouldn’t be respected on the farm with “good ole boys” if I had a purple or pink stethoscope, so I purchased a brown one with copper finish. It looked very professional to me, like an elite equine practitioner and I was ready to go out and try my best to fit in with my clients and make them happy and would never allow them to think that my being a girl was a weakness.
My first real job (after a joke of an internship) was with a boss that was one of those good ole boys on the farm and despite his large stature and thick barrier of testosterone he carried around with him at all times, he employed only small women in his clinic – perhaps it was the need to feel in control, but perhaps it was just that in the veterinary world, women were becoming the majority for options. While working there, and only 3 months into my employment at my first job – granted I was already 28 – I became pregnant with my first child. I was absolutely terrified. I just knew that I was going to get fired for this and even contacted my uncle who is a lawyer to ask his opinion on my chances of getting fired. He told me that, unfortunately, because the business was such a small practice, I could, in fact, be fired legally.
I finally got up the courage to tell him and he was visibly disturbed, but, to my astonishment, did not fire me on the spot or make life harder for me to get me to quit. He did, however, warn me that the farmers around there (rural South Carolina) would not like a pregnant lady working on their cattle – that I’d make them uncomfortable and not to be discouraged if I was asked not to come back. I just knew that this would be the end of my large animal career. I worked very hard in the coming months to hide my belly with large clothes and coveralls, but at some point, you just get to the point where you can’t hide that belly anymore. The farmers did notice. They were shocked, surprised, but not one of them told me not to come back or act like they were unwilling to allow me to work on their animals. They were, maybe, a little more careful with restraining their large animals (but, really, shouldn’t they, anyway).
I went on to have the baby, remain on call, while breastfeeding and have to cart my infant along with me on some farm calls. I would park with the truck running and go pull a calf while my baby screamed in the truck the entire time. I did the same when I went out and castrated some horses, with the baby sleeping in the vehicle. Not one farmer said one thing to me – except I would get the occasional comment on how impressed they were that “a little girl like you can do what you do”.
I eventually established myself as a strong person, and no longer had to hide that I was a woman, that I was a pregnant woman, a nursing woman, a mothering woman, or a womanly woman. I eventually got to the point where I would wear earrings or *gasp* make-up or a sparkly headband that was my daughter’s out to the farms and never got a lick of push back. I still have the brown stethoscope because, well, they’re expensive and this one has not disintegrated yet, and once I cleaned all the cow manure out of the ear pieces, my ears don’t itch so much anymore. But I really love when people ask me about why I have an ugly, brown stethoscope because I get to tell them about how I used to be scared to be me, but once I was me and figured out people were okay with that, I get to be me and love it!
