Notes from a post-call Sunday

Snow always looks prettier when you’re watching it from a warm, dry place. Even more enticing if you’re looking out at it from the hallway at the hospital where you’ve spent the last 28 hours.

When you are on call and you know it’s going to snow overnight, wearing open-top shoes are probably not a good idea, because there are only so many snowplows and a lot of sidewalk.

And if you are wearing shoes which do not cover the tops of your feet, and you are walking through unplowed parking lots, it’s helpful to remember where you parked. This saves you not just time but also helps head off a post-call meltdown.

Prairie Home Companion is probably the best thing on the radio. Particularly when you’re really tired and heading home to your family. Love it.

The only thing better than a post-call nap is a post-call nap with a two and half year old wearing the same Batman jammies he’s had on for the past 36 hours, and who smells like the peanut butter sandwich he just finished eating for lunch.

Sometimes pepperoni, cheese, crackers and apple slices are just enough for dinner. Especially eaten on the couch next to the same two and a half year old (wearing the same Batman jammies) while watching football.

Sleep is good. Time at home with my family is better.

Carpe diem

He’s 87, and tired. He sleeps 12 hours a day and can’t motivate himself to clean his desk or do the dishes. He’s worried about his wife who drinks too much. They got married young, during World War II, and he left almost immediately after the wedding to fight. They’ve been married 66 years now. When she drinks she gets angry and brings up grievances from years ago. He tells me that she has a right to be angry about some things, he was unfaithful to her forty years ago and wasn’t around as much as he should have been. But for the last twenty years he’s tried to be a good husband, fixing meals for her and bringing her breakfast in bed.

“I’m 87,” he says, “and I’m tired of being yelled at. And at this point, saying life is short is a bit of an understatement.”

66 years of marriage, through wars, births and deaths of children, infidelity, and who knows what else. He’s 87 and just now is realizing that life is short.

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My son sat on my lap facing me as I tickled him. He giggled, and then put on a serious face and said “No more tickles, Mama. ”

“Okay, then how about kisses?” I said.

“Yes, kisses!” he replied and bent forward to put his hands on the sides of my face. He turned my head to the left and planted a big kiss on my cheek. Then, he turned my head to the right, and again planted his lips right up against my cheek. But this time, instead of a kiss, he burped. He pulled his head back and studied my reaction, which of course was one of mixed disgust and laughter.

“Ewww!” I said, “I can’t believe you did that!”

He looked back at me, face perfectly seriously, and said “That was a burp kiss Mama, for you.” And then cracked up.

Life is short, indeed.