Buy a New Car (15 of 40)

There’s nothing quite like your first car. Mine was a dark blue 1989 Nissan Sentra with no less than 89,000 miles to her boxy frame. It was bought with a combination of my Baskin Robbins ice cream-scooping savings, a co-signed loan and the generosity of my parents. 

So excited was I to finally have my own wheels that I ignored my dad’s instructions to immediately secure insurance and was promptly grounded from the vehicle. 

Within a week of having my insurance and privileges reinstated, another car hit a patch of ice in the parking lot of my high school and t-boned me on the driver’s side. 

Obviously, the Sentra and I were not off to a great start. 

In any event, I loved having that car. It was Freedom: being able to get where I wanted to go without needing to rely on anyone else. Accomplishment: having worked and saved in order to call something my own. Independence: customizing it with ironic bumper stickers and replacing the dated cassette deck with a fancy new CD player. (The first song I played after the install? Matchbox 20’s Push. {sigh} Be still my soft-grunge heart!)

(This appears to be the only photo I have of this car and it is pure late-90’s magic! Peep the belly shirt with rolled down warm-ups and Birkenstocks. It appears I may have gotten dressed in the dark. Or perhaps this was before the invention of mirrors? A girl was tan though...)

Of the subsequent vehicles I have owned, none have more memories and hijinks attached to them than this first one. 

There was the Spring Break trip to Mexico in which my parents let me and the above-pictured friend drive by ourselves behind them while we blasted Weezer’s Blue Album on a continuous loop. 

Wearing out the clutch (for the first of several times) on a dirt road while hauling a car-full of teens to a woods party. The next day, my less-than-thrilled father had to help direct the tow truck to the middle of nowhere while I discovered the partygoers had oh so helpfully busted out several windows and both taillights during the night. 

Simultaneously burning up the engine and air conditioning whilst attempting to climb a 6% grade during an Arizona summer at 80 mph. 

The now A/C-less roads trips with a girlfriend to visit college friends in Tucson, sweating and shirtless, with all the windows down in attempt to survive the furnace-like heat and plenty of side-eye from passing truckers.  

Learning that oil changes are not optional car maintenance

Kissing my first real boyfriend in the backseat. 

Trying to find myself by getting lost in the forests of Flagstaff. 

I took that car for everything she had to offer. A couple of months before my wedding, when the driver’s side door stopped functioning and the only way in or out was through the passenger side, I knew it was finally time to say my good-byes. Usher out my single youth and enter into adulthood. 

Almost two years ago, it was time to usher out another automotive phase of life. While the kids were young, we had a minivan. I’m not scared to admit it, I loved having having a mom-mobile. It was so functional: the utility, the sliding doors, the captains chairs that (mostly) kept the kids out of each others’ reach...that thing had it all! 

But...have you ever tried to pull up to a date in one those suckers? 

I. Just. Couldn’t. 

So I decided that once I finished my crazy school commute, I would buy a new car that would fit both the mother and the independent woman that I am now. I landed on this beaut: a low-mileage used Nissan Rogue with a sunroof and leather interior. And I wasn’t sad to see the van go in the least. 

 

The Trifecta (12, 13, 14 of 40)

I like to think of this next post as a three-for-one special, a three-fer if you will. I could pretend that I had thought this through and lumped these all together because they are so closely related, but the truth is that I have something like 26 weeks left before the big day and I have some catching up to do.

When I started the 40 by Forty list, I was still in school for my degree in Ultrasound. Obviously, graduate was top on the list. The whole point of graduating, though, is to start a career and so I also wrote down, “Get a job that I like.” In order to get a job in the world of sonography, one must first pass certification boards so I had to include “Pass ARDMS” to really round the whole thing out.

I grew up in the era of “you can be whatever you want to be” and as a child I took that idea quite literally. I assumed that when the time was right, I’d approach the person who hands out jobs and state, “I’d like to be a rich and famous singer.” They would check some box on an official form and send me down the path of perpetual profitability. Children don’t trouble themselves with details like the need for opportunity, work ethic or, I don’t know, talent...so imagine my surprise when I discovered that being whatever I wanted was going to require a bit more than simply wishing for it.

Problem was, the only thing I really knew I wanted to be when I grew up was a mother. As challenging and demanding as it is to be the primary caregiver, I am so very thankful I had the luxury to be home with my children from birth through their early elementary years. When the reality of a post-married life started to sink in, though, the need to find a way to support myself and the kids weighed very heavily on me. The facts were as follows:

1.   At 21, I had foregone my college education to follow my then-fiancé in support of his career.

2.   I had been out of the work-field for over a decade while I helped to raise and care for our children.

3.   The vast majority (roughly 80%) of women in my exact situation (middle class, stay at home parent, divorced after over a decade of marriage) end up living below the poverty line within 20 years.  

At best, I felt the cards were now stacked against me. At worst, well, I really didn’t want to know what that was going to look like.

After weighing the options available to me in my particular set of circumstances, I landed on ultrasound. It felt like a good fit partially because I hoped the medical field would provide job security and benefits, and partially because it was a two-rather-than-four-year track towards my goal. Time felt like a luxury I was only partially afforded at this specific juncture. 

I’ve already referenced my school experience on this blog so I won’t bore you with more of the same. In July of 2019, I graduated with my Associate’s Degree in Diagnostic Medical Sonography. (#12) Finishing the program felt amazing and I was pleasantly surprised to also be awarded valedictorian. Best of all, though, was seeing my two kids in the crowd watching their mom accomplish what our collective sacrifices had earned. 

As I mentioned, in order to obtain employment, I needed to be credentialed by ARDMS. The field is so diverse and each area carries a separate certification. I made it my goal to sit for three specialties within one year of graduation and nine months later, I had studied and passed board exams for Abdomen, OB/Gyn, and Breast ultrasound. (#13) 

If there is anything that complete life upheaval will teach, it's how to marathon. I’m not talking about running here (ew, gross), but the kind of endurance that is required to move from one set of challenges into another. As much as I wanted to sit back and bask in the completion of my degree, I knew the real work in securing a position was just beginning. 

In a field that highly values experience, finding any open door can be difficult. The very day my internship ended, I superman’ed out of my scrubs and into my interviewing suit: 

I was fortunate to find a couple per diem positions, which is the fancy way of saying, I-worked-whatever-whenever-and-every-shift-floated-my-direction. There was a solid seven months of 50+ hour weeks, weeks-long stretches without a day off, and the dreaded call shifts. 

It all paid off when a rare fulltime position opened up and I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time to get to claim it. This month marks one year in that position, and although entering the medical field at the exact same time of a global health crisis is not ideal, I am so thankful for a regular schedule, set income and health insurance for the kids and I. (And PTO...oh, how I love PTO!)

Now one of the first things people say when you mention that you do ultrasounds is, “How fun that you get to take pictures of babies all day!” I have to admit, when I first started school, I sort thought that’s what I would be doing too. Truth is, that is a sweet, but very tiny part of my career. 

In the relatively short time I have been working, I have scanned more gallstones than I knew existed. I have seen grown men throw up from the pain of a passing kidney stone. I have seen women who didn’t know they were pregnant discover they are in labor. I have a tale of scanning the nether-regions of a 400-lb double amputee that, if not for HIPAA, would regale even the stuffiest of crowds. 

I’ve had to keep a straight face when I have discovered metastatic cancer in an unsuspecting patient. I have heard the pleading prayers of a mother who is losing her baby. I have looked for bleeds in the brains of premature babies and found blood clots in adults that span the length of their leg. I have built relationships with repeat patients, and especially during this pandemic, saw more than a few of them transferred to the morgue. 

It is challenging, interesting and dynamic work. It is beautiful at times and it is awful at times. There is something holy in bearing witness to someone else’s suffering, be it temporary or life-altering. Growing up, I never would have thought that this would be the career I landed on and, truth be told, I had no idea what I was getting into. But, for what it’s worth, I really do like it. (#14)

Memorize Hook Lyrics (11 of 40)

I’m going to go ahead and admit it, I can dork-it-up with the best of them. Very few people outside my children and possibly my sister have experienced the fullness of my particular brand of dorkage but I am about to change that with this post. 

It’s probably no surprise that being a writer, I am a huge fan of song lyrics. Back in the days before google, I loved it when artists would include the lyrics in the cassette tape CD jacket. I would pour over them so I knew the ins and outs of each song, my attempt at insuring the prevention of middle school humiliation by mistakenly belting out “I like big butts in a can of limes” when Baby Got Back came on the radio. 

Don’t get me wrong. Misheard lyrics can be hilarious. For several weeks last summer I was singing “I’d rather be drunk but at least I’m alive” to Rain on Me. I thought it was a bold lyrical choice on Lady Gaga’s part but then again it is quarantine and people are drinking more. 

Turns out she’d actually rather be dry...

because the song is about rain...

solid face palm. 

It is also great fun for the kids. Ed Sheeran may have written “I’m going to put the time in” as a lyric in South of the Border, but the kids and I will forever sing “I’m going to poop a diamond” because that is exactly what it sounds like. Go ahead and give it a listen. You’ll never hear it correctly again. 

Several years ago, I watched Emma Stone absolutely kill her lip-sync rendition of Hook by Blue’s Traveler on Jimmy Fallon. I’m talking QUEEN status. I wasn’t a huge fan of the song in the 90’s but seeing her performance inspired me to want to give it a try. The verbal gymnastics required to sing that particular song correctly are dizzying. 

Here’s where the true extent of my dork-hood comes into play. I have now listened to this song, specifically the 47 second segment between 3 minutes 28 seconds and 4 minutes 15 seconds at least a hundred times in an attempt to get it somewhere close to right. I also wrote down the lyrics and discovered all the areas that I had been mis-hearing for years. 

For the record: 

Rin Tin Tin or Ramble-in’ Anne Boleyn

This symphony MTV is not for free

Sure, but also raygeahainpaidafearitself rage and hate and pain and fear of self

And for those unfortunate souls with unpure thoughts, the word is DIDDYS...with D’s you sick-o. 

Now before we get to the point of the blog where I humiliate myself complete my task, there are a few things to note. First, and most importantly, I can’t sing. I mean, I do sing, at times loudly and always while driving, but no one actually wants to hear me sing. Secondly, I don’t do karaoke, so this fete serves literally zero purpose in my life except that I wanted to do it. Lastly, it’s not perfect, but Ava’s fee for participation was steadily climbing so we called it good enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you...