Eighty-one year olds are romantic.

If you know me, you know I have an incurable crush on older men. I'm not talking Clooney. I'm talking hunched back, saggy skin and long earlobes older. They have lived. And they are so special to me.

The other night at work I was floated down to the ICU. INSTANT FEAR AND TREMBLING. I stopped being an ICU nurse for a reason and I was nervous my old cronies would want me to take a patient load. No thank you, it's been almost two years and I would likely kill whomever they were wanting me to save. Instead (thank you Jackie!) I was assigned the task of sitting with an 81 year old confused heart surgery patient who had previously tried to give himself a concussion by pulling his IV pole down on his head. I will call him Donny.

Donny was wonderful. In order to keep him from pulling out his PICC line, I asked him if I could hold his hand. And he had just the sweetest answer. "Well, I had better call your dad and ask for permission." See? Eighty-one year olds have class. I told him I didn't think my dad would mind- nor my husband. (And Josh didn't- he knows he comes first, Russell Crowe second, and all old men third.)
So Donny and I got to hold hands all night long. And sometimes he would grab my hand with both of his, and with shaking hands arms raise my hand to his mouth to kiss the back of my hand. Aww. Precious.

Now, Donny wasn't perfect. At certain points of the night he was screaming for his wife (who wasn't there), twitching like he was getting ready to knock me unconscious, or winging his SpO2 monitor cord around like a lasso. But he was also sweet enough to tell me about his kids and his time in the service and his dear wife who "was quite a looker, in his opinion."

It was an incredibly long night shift- sitting in a darkened room trying ever so hard not to get sleepy. But it was so good. The older people are the one thing I miss from the ICU. Their stories. Their wisdom. Their perspectives. They have lived life and learned lessons. They've experienced pain and heartache. And they've loved. And they are living in a time when the number of people they love are growing fewer and fewer. I can't imagine watching friends die. And having to say goodbye to a spouse of fifty years. But I have watched older people deal with life tragedy with class. And I want to learn from them. I want to reap from the harvest of their wisdom. I want to hear their stories- learn history from their perspective. I want to be a friend to them.

They need friends, you know. My heart cries for people shoved into nursing homes and forgotten by family. And that's why one day I'm going to take my kiddos to nursing homes. And let my babies begin to learn a life lesson. Older people are treasures that won't always be around. Make sure you are not missing out.

I am going to go call my Grandma.

*Disclaimer: Not all older people are wonderful and a joy to be around. In fact, some are quite perverted and should not be granted the opportunity to hold and kiss your hand. :)

Update on my Pitiful Post

So, I thought perhaps I should continue the transparency and let you know how my journey to be a far less lackluster wife is going. (I find 'less lackluster' fun to say. It's even fun to type. Try it. Your fingers get tongue-tied, if that's possible.)

Honestly, I think it's going well. Our house gets a little cleaner each day and I'm working hard to keep it that way. Dishes are done each evening (mostly), the living and dining rooms are tidied before heading upstairs to get ready for bed, and I wipe down the bathroom sink right before climbing into bed. I've even started keeping the toilet lid down (shout out to my brother-in-law, Simon. An open toilet lid is a serious no-no in the Henry household.)

I still have a crazy lot of room to improve. Our master bedroom has three overflowing baskets of clean, folded laundry to be put away. However, I'd prefer you focus on the facts. The laundry is both clean and folded. :) AND.....

The other day some friends randomly stopped by. And when the husband walked into our house, he said, "It's clean in here! You guys keep a tidy place!" And my heart found a place called Bliss.

Now, to get more consistent with my devotions (definitely) and consider a workout routine (probably not).

Confessions of a (Pitiful) Wife

Eight months.

That is how long it's taken me to start getting into the swing of things after having Malachi. Embarrassing but true. I could blame part of it on working night shift and not having a babysitter during the day when I'm badly needing sleep. I could blame part of it on a decent amount of traveling. (Not going to lie- I could also blame Hulu for hours of mindless show watching. Bad mom award, right here.) But mostly I think I just let myself off the hook.

I look at my sister (or anyone who goes home with a newborn to a house filled with other children) and wonder how in tarnation she does it. If you're wondering, she just added the sweetest baby girl, Adriah Faith, to her already impressive collection of a four year old boy, and two year old twin girls. And I'm pretty sure if I were Rachel, you would find me wandering down the side of the road in my underclothes muttering something about guns and the end of the world. But she is cool. She already had three babies, what problem could one more bring?

I'm not like that. I've always been slow at completing tasks. I can get lost for hours in fiction. I want to snuggle with Josh on the couch instead of dealing with the (never-ending) dishes all over my kitchen. And we're in deep trouble now that Olympic trials are on.

I hadn't realized how messy I'd let life become until a week ago when I made an actual dinner with an actual recipe and we actually sat at the table to eat it. (Granted, the other half of the table was covered with items needing to be put away.) And I realized I felt good about making a yummy meal for my hubby. And I wondered when having a few restful weeks after Malachi's birth had turned into eight months of being a lackluster wife and making excuses.

So here goes something, folks. (I can't rightly say "here goes nothing." Because it's not nothing. We as Christians are told to work as unto the Lord. And I daresay I would be embarrassed to have him see the state of my house right now. And yes, I know He can see it. This is not meant to be a theology lesson. It's more me making an inward decision and outward commitment to do better. Because I know I can.

So, feel free to stop by my house. Anytime. And if it's a wreck, well, I deserve to be embarassed and perhaps it will spur me on.

 Just don't judge me for the bills on the table- I'm mailing them tomorrow. :)