EMSI Dinner

My morning sickness eased up just enough for me to go to the annual EMSI Christmas Dinner last night.  I was so glad that I was able to to go, even if my appetite was a little lacking.

It was nice to get dressed up and go out with my handsome man.

Panorama of our table:

Panorama of the room:

We had a great time.  I even won one of the door prizes!  You can't go wrong with an Amazon.com gift card!

A Nurse's First-Aid Kit

We went camping last weekend, and as usual, I brought along the little first-aid kit that my husband brought into our marriage... almost seven years ago.  I knew it had some band-aids and gauze, but never gave much thought to what else it could (or should!) have. 

So we were camping.  With 150 other people.  In the woods.  With yellow jackets, and splintery wood, and rusty nails.  It wasn't until I tried to help with a couple of minor injuries that I realized how worthless my first-aid kit actually was. 

I wished I had a medical supply closet in my back pocket.  Or at least a little more than what I had on hand.  So yesterday I put together my own little first-aid kit.  Most of this stuff is available at Walmart, or your neighborhood drug store.  A few of these things you would have to get from a medical supplies supplier.

First thing was finding a new container to hold everything.  An old salad container was just the right size.  As a bonus, it's transparent, so I can easier locate what I need when I need it!  (Plus, I get bonus points for upcycling, right?!)

Everything I came up with (except the hand sanitizer, which I forgot to include in this picture).  There are still lots of things I wish I could have on hand.  Like sterile saline, hydrocodone, nitroglycerine, and a suture kit (y'know, in case there's a doctor around). Oh, and oxygen and IV fluids, while we're dreaming.

The creams, ointments, and skin glue.

The oral medications. (yes, I spelled Benadryl wrong. I always do.  I blame it on learning Latin in grade school.)

I emptied my medicine cabinet, and included pretty much everything that wasn't a supplement.  I wrote down the various uses of the meds, just in case I'm not the person using the first aid kit.

Tools and instruments. You never know what you're going to need, right?

Bandages, absorption, and cold compress.

This handy dandy little First-Aid Guide booklet was in the old kit I had.  It has some pretty good information in it, so I decided to throw it in.

Other good things to have.

Everything neatly tucked into my new and improved first-aid kit.

Master List for a Nurse's First-Aid Kit

Basics:
-gloves
-hydrogen peroxide
-alcohol based hand sanitizer
-alcohol pads
-ace wrap
-safety pins
-gauze wrap
-pen light
-bandage scissors
-hemostats
-dull tip tweezers
-sharp tip tweezers
-fingernail clippers
-transpore tape
-paper tape
-various size band-aids, including butterfly band-aids
-various sizes of sterile gauze
-abd pad
-eye patch
-q-tips
-tongue depressor (for finger splints, etc)
-cold compress pack

Topical Treatment:
-baking soda (mix with a little water for bee stings)
-liquid skin glue
-triple antibiotic ointment
-pain relieving ointment (20% benzocaine)
-topical benadryl
-hydrocordizone cream
-antifungal cream (miconazole nitrate)
-lanolin

Medications:
-Aspirin (in case of heart attack)
-Ibuprofen (take for pain, inflammation, or fever)
-Tylenol (pain, fever)
-Excedrin (pain, migraines)
-Benadryl (any kind of allergic reaction. Or if you have trouble sleeping)
-Suphedrine (nasal congestion, sinus pressure)
-Tums (acid reflux, upset stomach)
-Zofran (major nausea)
-Preggie pop (mild nausea)
-Amoxicillin (just in case someone needs antibiotics, and a hospital is a thousand miles away)
-Codeine (pain, or severe coughing)
-Imitrex (migraine)
-regular lollipops (either to raise blood sugar, or as a reward for a brave kid)


Now I'll be at least somewhat prepared for splinters, bug bites, bee stings, scrapes, cuts, gashes, sprains, vomiting, and even heart attacks.


Just a little disclaimer:  Always seek professional medical attention if severely injured.  First-aid kits are not meant to treat major injuries or illnesses. Most of the things listed here are pretty basic, but some of it requires a good understanding of medicine to use correctly.  The fact that I went through nursing school, passed my boards, and worked for several years as a nurse is really a bigger asset than any of the things I put in this kit.  Some of the medications, for instance, shouldn't be given to everyone.  I noted the expiration dates of medications, because expired meds are not always safe to take.  They can become less effective, more potent, or even dangerous.  I plan on replacing the expired meds as soon as possible.

Cheers, and keep those band-aids handy!

Motherhood As My Career

...Continued from Nursing As My Career.

I realize that I haven't been doing this mom thing for very long.  There are many women that are older, wiser, and more experienced when it comes to the topic of motherhood.  Some of those women are wonderful writers, and have taken the time to write and publish their thoughts on these matters.  I also realize this has all been said before. These are just my experiences and thoughts on what I've learned.  They aren't very well written, and they certainly aren't eloquent.  But still, I find putting my thoughts on paper (er, pixels), helps me sort them out.  So in case you're curious what those thoughts might look like, here's what I have.

Our society doesn't understand why I would choose to be a stay-at-home mom.  It doesn't make sense.  You gave up a noble profession in nursing because you wanted to make mac-n-cheese, color with your kids, and wipe snotty noses?  Yep.  But keep reading.

Whatever your background, I think we can agree that there is rewarding fulfillment in volunteer work.  Even the celebrities do it. There is a certain kind of gratification in knowing you've helped someone, and someone poor or less fortunate at that.  Maybe you've volunteered at a soup kitchen before.  Maybe you once raised money to go to some third world country for 10 days.  You probably even had a moment of enlightenment while you were there.  Well, I sort of think of motherhood as the ultimate volunteer work.  I help two little people every single day.  In one sense, they are the poorest people I know.  Without me to take care of them, they would become nothing. 

Why is it that volunteering to help with children is highly admirable, but dedicating your life to the cause without monetary gain has become something to pity?  I think in part, because our society doesn't truly love children.  At least, not with the kind of love that values the other person above yourself.  Many people see kids as a hindrance to a good night's sleep, giving up the luxury of fancy vacations, and not being able to do whatever you want, whenever you want.  Children get in the way of our cultural religion of self-fulfillment.

Children have a lot of needs that require a lot of attention. And I want to be the person fulfilling the needs of my children, and pouring myself into every aspect of their lives.  Sometimes that means I have sacrifice something I want to do so I can help/serve/love/train/encourage them.  Being a mother means we have to give up ourselves.  Over and over and over.  Yes, it's hard work.  Giving things up always is.  It is our nature to be selfish and to do what we want to do, and motherhood is long, hard, sometimes exhausting work. Even so, there are many opportunities for the kind of gratification that fills our souls with joy: the unprompted "wuv yoo"s, the bedtime snuggles and storybook time, the constant singing. But more often than not, motherhood requires us to give... and give... and give.  And unless you've seen an Example of what that kind of sacrifice looks like, you might only be willing to give as long as you're also being given in return.

In case you're wondering, let's just get one thing straight.  The Bible does not actually say that women are less valuable than men, and therefore a woman's place is in the home.  Nope.  The Bible teaches us that family is important, and God created women to have the mental and emotional capacity to be good at raising our children. A wise man I know once told women that "your strength is found particularly in your beauty and your powers of nurturing life."  That does not sound demeaning to me.  It sounds like I have superpowers.

The fact that we women have powers of nurturing life does not disqualify the other things God has made us good at, and the other talents He has given us.  In fact, I find that while raising my two small children, I am able to explore and exercise the various talents God has given me. After all, people joke that being a mom is a score of professions rolled into one: a housekeeper, sure.  A chef, definitely.  And also a pre-school teacher, an advisor, a nurse, a counselor, an interior designer, a music teacher, a writer, a photographer, a hairdresser, a fashion consultant, a referee, an object-locator, etc. etc. It's fun pulling out my dusty guitar and playing until my fingers burn.  But even if I excel in all of those specialties, being multi-talented and super organized isn't what makes me a good mother. Knowing how to love, be joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and have self control is what my children really need me to be good at.  Because after all, children learn by example.  And children love the things they see their parents love.

The Bible also doesn't say women shouldn't have jobs.  Of course not.  Proverbs praises a woman for her awesome workplace skills.  So if you don't have a problem with women working, why don't you work occasionally to keep up your nursing license and skills?  You could make extra money while serving your community.  Wouldn't it be good for you to get out of the house?  Those are really good questions.  When it comes down to it, I simply didn't want to leave my little family for 8 or 12 hours at a time, and I didn't want to become a slave to keeping my nursing license.  I knew that "just a few shifts a month" could become a burden of constant stress, always worrying that I if I didn't get the right shifts, my license would disappear.  So I just let it go.  And I actually do get out of the house without the kids occasionally.  It may be to WinCo, or choir practice, but that's fine.  I actually enjoy having my girls around.  I'm not dying to get away from them.  And sure, the extra money would be nice, but we've learned that material possessions and expensive experiences aren't what make our lives happy.

I don't say that motherhood is my new career so that I feel less guilty about leaving my nursing career behind.  I call it a career because it is.  Career means "an occupation or profession, especially one requiring special training, followed as one's lifework."

When I was a nurse, I would watch the other nurses around me, and pay particular attention to things they did well.  I wanted to learn how to do my job even better.  Now, I watch my mom friends.  I might ask a friend her advice or counsel on a particular aspect of motherhood, especially if I see that she has done it well.  I get together with my mom friends sometimes, and we let the kids play together.  We discuss various aspects of what we do as moms, but giving thanks, without complaining.  Since we're human, we're all familiar with the temptation to grumble.  "Little Johnny has been such a pill and is driving me nuts!  Little Susie had me up all night and I'm so tired!"  But what comes out of my mouth has an affect on mentality, I've noticed.  I might be really exhausted, but how I mention it will affect my attitude.  So instead of bemoaning how tired I am, I laugh a little, and might say something about how cute the sleep deprived child is. Being a big complainer ("ugh!" "poor me!") makes me a grumpy person.  Giving thanks, even in the irritating situations, has a strange power to turn that annoyance into not-so-annoying.  When I complain, I find things to complain about.  When I give thanks, I find things to appreciate.  Sometimes when I'm on Facebook or Pinterest, I stumble across one of those memes about the trials of motherhood.  It's usually a picture of a woman with her face in her hands, and some comment about how awful her kids are, or how miserable she is.  Yeah, being a mom can be hard work.  But complaining about it does not help me find joy in my vocation.  Nor does it help my children improve their behavior. 

As with many kinds of career training, I am learning how to problem-solve within my scope of practice.  And I don't just mean figuring out what to make for lunch when we're out of peanut butter.  I mean, a lot of times I actually don't need to ask for advice or counsel, because I already know the broad answer that I've found applies to so many situations of parenting: be patient with your children, and give yourself up.  In all of the loving, training, and teaching that I do every day, those two rules almost always apply.

How exactly to go about training and teaching your children is a very broad subject.  And I know my methods will change as my children get older.  I mentioned that children learn by example.  We know that.  I write the letter "C," and then my two-year-old tries to do what I just did.  My children mimic what I do, and they won't know how to mimic what they've never seen me do.  If my kids don't know what self-control looks like, they are going to have a hard time understanding what it means, and how to practice it. Sometimes I'm tempted to just shout arbitrary commands, like: "Hey! Stop throwing a fit!" But here's where the being patient, and giving myself up bit comes along.  It takes a lot more energy to stop whatever I'm in the middle of, approach my child, hold her hands, look her in the eyes, and calmly explain, "sweety, you may not throw a fit.  That's losing self-control.  It's okay to be disappointed.  But it is important to learn how to control our actions and our emotions, and not them control us." (Just so you know, this is not the place for me to get into what I think or don't think about spanking. Ask me in person, and I'd love to discuss it.)

Last week on Facebook, I jumped into a discussion with some of my mom friends about how much we loved doing projects. I found myself saying this:

I try to make time to do a small project every once and while, because I enjoy it so much. And it's nice to point to something, and say "look at what I've accomplished!" But I have to remind myself daily (constantly) that doing lots of awesome projects does not make be a more valuable wife and mother. Managing my time wisely is important, but most days it matters more to play with and read to the girls (and y'know, do the laundry and make the dinner). In 30 years, our well-raised adult children will be a million times more worth it than those few projects.

Childhood psychologists understand that "much of a child's personality is completely established by the age of five."  The article mentions that children neglected or abused may never be able to adjust out of that.  But my thought is, if the hard things leave scars, how much more will the good things of childhood stay with them. I want to be the person constantly influencing my children, helping to shape them to become amazing people.  I want to show them what love is.  And joy and beauty.  And patience, kindness, and goodness.  The early years may very well be the most important of their lives.  I don't want to miss those years because I felt the need to keep up my nursing license.  I'll probably go back to work in 15 or 20 years, but for now, I've given it up to be home with my girls.

I'm not saying I never miss being a nurse.  Because sometime, I really do.  I'm saying that I think being a mom is the most important thing for me to be doing.  I'm saying, "hey world, check it out. I'm a stay-at-home mom that is learning more every day how to be a better mom; by loving, hugging, and selflessly giving myself up.  And it's worth it."

I write these words to remind myself.  Sorting out these thoughts helps me see what my shortcomings are; where I'm falling short.  And so I pray for strength and diligence in raising my children.  Being a stay-at-home mom is hard.  It can be easy to forget the purpose behind the routine, and easier still to just let things slide. So this is me, reminding myself.

Now excuse me while I load into the car with my husband, two girls, and two of my brothers.  We're going on an ice cream run. 

Happy Mother's Day on Sunday!

Nursing As My Career

I never know quite what to say to new friends. "Oh yeah, I'm a nurse.  Well... I was for three years.  But I quit and let my license expire.  So I'm not really a nurse anymore?  I used to be a nurse.  I guess I'm retired."

This week is National Nurses Week.  It happens to end on Sunday, which is also Mother's Day.  I feel as though that transition echos the story of my career.  Or careers, really.  It's funny to me that being a stay-at-home mom is not really recognized in our culture as a real career.  Because if I'm just a stay-at-home mom, it must be because I'm too lazy to juggle both a job and motherhood. Or, since I'm a Christian, maybe it's because I've been brainwashed into thinking that my only purpose in life is crank out babies and make sure dinner is on the table.

Ever since I was little girl, part of me wanted to be "a nurse that delivered babies."  So I studied for four intense years to become a nurse. I didn't get a job in OB, but I still loved my career as a nurse.  I clashed with some of my coworkers, developed close friendships with others, tried to let the stress of the job roll off my shoulders, and loved serving those around me.

As much as I loved my job, I knew there was a different career waiting for me.  Dare I say, a more important one.  So when I told my boss that I was pregnant, she already knew what that meant.  I worked my last shift as a nurse at the end of May, 2010.  Two weeks later I had Chloë, and launched into motherhood.

I got paychecks for my first career, which according to our culture's standards, meant I was valuable to our society.  For my second career, I don't actually make a dime doing what I'm doing.  Since a salary is so highly worshiped and interpreted as success, it's no wonder that a zero-income profession is often viewed as a useless waste of life.

I'll be honest.  Sometimes I feel the pressure from the mindset of our culture.  What did you do today?  Two loads of laundry, and you made dinner?  Yeah, well I worked for eight hours, brought home a paycheck, and still managed to do two loads of laundry, and made dinner. Clearly I'm more valuable/a better person/a harder worker.  I don't want to disregard the heavy load of mothers that do have to work.  Because I know many of you.  You work insanely hard, and I know God blesses that. 

But because my husband has been blessed with a good job, and we live within our means (gasp!), we don't actually need a second income.  We don't have fancy cars or expensive hobbies, we don't have cable, and we don't buy coffees or sodas every day (it adds up fast: averaging $1,092 per adult, per year for coffee, and $850 per household for soft drinks!) Things like eating out and going to movies are considered special splurges.  I don't consider my life boring or deprived because I've only been to three movies in the last three years. 

So, you bought into the religious dogma that you had to give up an amazing and rewarding career so you can sit around with your kids all day? Not exactly.  Yes, I gave up a wonderful career.  But I traded it for a better one.  Wow, you really did feel pressured to quit your career.  Nope.  I wanted to.  Yes, being a nurse was gratifying.  Every day, I could point to something and say, "see what I accomplished!  I helped someone get better!  I did lots of awesome procedures! I was kind to my employees!  The company awarded me Employee Of The Year! One of my patients thanked me for my work!" 

I'm really grateful for that chapter in my life.  The experience helps with my current career, believe it or not.


To Be Continued on Motherhood As My Career.

EMSI Christmas Dinner

A couple of nights ago was the annual EMSI Christmas Dinner. Semi-formal, gourmet food, and good friends means it's always a fun time. We got all dressed up, and Bryan's sister Laura babysat the toddler. I felt great that day and evening, which was a true blessing considering I haven't had very many "good" days lately. I only wish I would have been able to eat a little more. Baby has been encroaching on my stomach space lately. By the time dessert came, I was so full I couldn't have more than a bite.

This year, Bryan won the "Voice of Reason" EMSI Award. The "awards" are really just an excuse for a couple of the employees to poke fun at their coworkers, and the little presentation is always good for a few laughs.

We had a fabulous evening.

College Years

I have never journaled about college. I just didn't keep a journal then. I journaled quite a bit until my mid teens, but it just phased out. So here, for my own sake in 10 or 20 or 50 years is a very brief account of those years.

I got the acceptance letter to the University of Idaho's Biology program for Pre-Nursing. It was the Spring of 2003. Two years after I "finished" my homeschool studies and got my GED, I had a plan and I was ready to face the world.

I felt so lost that first day. It was late August of 2003. I was wearing a baby blue tank top. Somehow I ended up with a master list of classes from the previous semester, and wound up sitting in the wrong class for 10 minutes. I was so embarrassed. I ducked out as best as I could, found the right class, and worked as hard as I knew how. The Anatomy class I was taking that first semester was difficult. So many new words and concepts lecture after lecture... actin and myosin, sphenoid, ethnoid, sella turcica, osteoclasts and osteoblasts... And then there was the lab. The cadaver lab. It was so strange. Feeling the cool touch of corpses soaked in formaldehyde. Turning bones over and over in my hands, running my finger along the rough tuberosities... holding a human brain in my hands. But I conquered that class. My textbook was meticulously highlighted and underlined. I had old tests and flash cards everywhere. At the end of my freshman year, I applied for a paid and accredited position as a Teacher's Assistant for the upcoming year. And I got it. By the end of my first year I'd gained a rich friendship with a fun girl named Katie White. We were both in anatomy and physiology, went to Campus Crusade's Prime Time together every week, and I spent lots of time with her at her parent's big house on C street.

Sophomore year I was taking a full load... Genetics, Statistics, Organic Chemistry, and I had joined the University's Jazz Choir. The choir was amazing. Headed up by a Dan Bukvich, we did more hymns and oldies than actual jazz. We had lots of small concerts. We sang at the Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival. Bukvich wrote a 50 minute Mass that all 250 of us memorized. We traveled to Seattle to perform it. And I was teaching anatomy lab. And physiolgy the next semester. Me. Little me. To smart people twice my age that were going to become doctors. To dumb kids that obviously didn't study and made up the most hilarious anatomical terms. To fraternity losers that thought I was stupid enough to give them "just a little hint" if they smiled nicely and winked. It was hard work. Tuesday were my longest days, teaching a lab from 8 to 11, going to classes all day, then another lab from 6 to 9. But I loved it.

I was meeting new people and doing new things. But not dumb "college" things... things like staying up most of the night to study or finish that paper. Things like going to new churches and bible studies. Things like learning that it was easy to live on $200 a month when rent was $125. Things like how to dissect a human body in legal and respectful manner. Things like learning to look past an unhealthy body image. Things like how to sneak on to the roofs of buildings and grain elevators; not to spray paint or smoke illegal substances, but just because... and to talk late into the night with a dashing young man I had met that year. Bryan something. That one guy. There was something about him.

I introduced my friend Katie to Bryan and his roommates, Luke and Alex. And one of their old high school friends-Lynnessa-started showing up. Katie and I become close friends with Lynnessa, and it seemed Katie and Luke hit it off pretty well. Alex and Lynnessa seemed interested in each other. But Bryan and I were just friends. Really.

And then I applied to the Nursing Program at Lewis Clark State College. My prerequisites were right on track with their program, but wouldn't have lined up with any other nursing schools. So I only applied to one school. My grades were good. Not a shoo in 4.0, but 3.7 had to be considered... right?

I sobbed when I got the acceptance letter. I called my parents. I called my sister who was teaching in France for the year. I called Bryan: the guy that I found myself falling for. The guy that left a tiny little piece of paper under my windshield wiper on Easter Sunday. It said I Love You.

I considered moving to Lewiston since LCSC was there. But it was only 50 minutes away. I knew that I would commute for classes, but that it would be more difficult to commute for church and say, seeing friends in the evening. So I stayed in Moscow and started car pooling with other girls in my new class. There were 45 of us, total. 7 or 8 dropped over the next two years, but the rest of us survived.

Our class was close. I started studying a lot with Janette, one of the girls that had actually been in my A and P classes. She was married, spunky, and moral. We would study and cram together, and quiz each other on the drive down. We cried together when she told me the story of the hysterical mother who brought her lifeless baby to the ER the first day she had clinicals there. We cried when we admitted to each other that we didn't know if we could finish the program... it was too hard.

I tried to learn as much as I could possibly cram into my brain. You can't crush Protonix. Nose to ear to sternum was the length to measure for a GI tube. How to write lame care plans. Starting IVs. How to write really long and boring research papers. Maintaining a sterile field. How to delegate. What every sign and symptom for every single disease is. How to "communicate therapeutically." That you aren't supposed to wear your stethoscope around your neck if you're in a room with man who says he'll kill you. How to bring someone back to life.

Those two years were kind of a blur. Especially since 12 of us were part of the Accelerated Program, which meant we crammed three years into two. I wore a navy blue scrub top and white scrub pants for two years. I saw the old and dying, the young and dying, the sick restored to health, new life brought into the world. And I knew this was what I wanted to do. What I was meant to do. At least until God called me to something greater.

During my first year of nursing school, Bryan and I finally started dating. Shortly after, we were both in Alex and Lynnessa's wedding. Bryan was finishing up his last year of Mechanical Engineering at the U of I, and when he graduated, he decided that he wasn't going to move away while I was still in school. There really weren't any engineering jobs in this area, so he tried something different: he applied at the small economics firm in town. And got it. That summer we were both in Luke and Katie's wedding. I was even Katie's Maid of Honor. A week later, Bryan asked me to marry him. I told him "of course, you goose." We got married on the Thanksgiving break of my last year of nursing school, and had Alex, Lynnessa, Luke, and Katie in our wedding.

Maybe I wouldn't be a travel nurse after all.

And then. I was done. It seemed I had been working towards that goal for eternity, and suddenly, I was talking at the Senior Symposium, and then that was it. Done. No more blue scrubs and horrible white pants.

So I graduated. Four years ago. On May 19th, 2007.


This is how excited Bryan and I were to be done with college.


The three most important people in my life: my husband and my parents. The ones that encouraged me to pursue a crazy life in medicine, hugged me and prayed for me constantly, and knew that I could do it, even when I wasn't sure if I could. Sappy and cliché, yes. But true.


My dear sister showed up the the Nursing School Pining Ceremony wearing a dress almost identical to mine. Of course. We'd been trying to avoid matching outfits since we were kids.


After the pinning ceremony. So happy.


All ready for the big graduation ceremony.


In the crowd, waiting. I had a pink duct tape beta on my cap. A Greek B. For Bess, Botkin and Blakey. And because I was homeschooled and we liked dorky things like dead languages.


I DID IT!!!

I was Bess Blakey, GN. Graduate Nurse. When I passed the national boards (the dreaded NCLEX), I became Bess Blakey BSN RN.

EMSI Christmas Dinner

This post is especially for my dear Grandmother. Whenever I get dressed up and do something considered fancy for this small town, I can't help but think of Grandmother's many stories of glamour and high fashion; working in New York City and Paris, sewing herself fabulous gowns that were sure to turn every head in the room, and wining and dining with some fantastically interesting people. My life is not quite so glamorous, but I do enjoy a fancy evening out every now and then.

Yesterday evening was the highly anticipated EMSI Christmas Dinner. The company Bryan works for is extremely generous with their annual profit, and every year they put together a fabulous Christmas party. The attire is semi-formal, and I really like to get all dressed up once and while and even, perhaps, wear my new blue suede pumps. I wore the little black dress that I wore as Matron of Honor almost exactly a year ago, although I was 14 weeks pregnant at the time. It fit a little more comfortably this time around. And my jewels. Ah, yes, the tangled mass of beautiful (fake) pearls: a birthday present from my 16-year-old brother, Isaiah. And of course I had the most handsome date in town. Put the man in a tie and dress shoes, I've got myself a hot date for the evening.

We arrived at the historic 1912 Building in town, and mingled a bit with friends before sitting down with more friends. Nearly all 83 of us in attendance (as well as the dozens cooking and serving) just happen to go to our church, or one of the many good churches here in town, which really makes for an amazing room full people.

The dinner was catered by the fantastic West of Paris. A local, gourmet French restaurant, they certainly have the best food in town. They served a delectable five course meal, and Chef Foucachon himself came around offering seconds of the superb lobster bisque. I had cheese puffs, more bread and butter than I could handle, the bisque, steak and potatoes, salad and cheeses, and lavender crème brûlée. And wine. It was a glorious feast.

Every year a couple of the men put together the prestigous "EMSI Awards," which are always good for a few chuckles. Bryan won the "good-job-on-being-the-head-of-your-department-and-still-wearing-your-skate-shoes-and-BMXing-to-work" award. Maybe we shall frame it and put in the study.



Bryan's parents came to babysit Chloë, and they snapped a couple of pictures before we ran out the door. We had a wonderful time, and it was indeed, a grand evening.