6
“Is Jesse coming today?” Jude asks as I place his breakfast plate in front of him.
“He is.”
“YES!”
“I’m glad you’re excited.”
I was a nervous wreck through the first half of my clinical yesterday, but after the fifth laughter and smile-filled video call, I was able to loosen up. I was relieved to hear that the kids had a good time with Jesse. It was the first thing I asked when they woke up this morning, and then I was filled in on all the fun things that took place while I was gone. Even June was happy because Jesse let her put his hair in ponytails while they watched Frozen.
“But does he have to cook again?” The look June gives me tells me she really, really hopes the answer is no.
“What’s that face for?”
“Mom. He put a bunch of vegetables in a pot and said it was Martian Stew.”
I choke on my coffee. “He what?”
June and Jude start talking at once.
“He dumped cans of green beans and peas—”
“—and lime beans!”
“And lima beans into a pot and tried to make it our dinner.”
“They’re healthy and help our moon systems fight sinuses.”
“Viruses, Jude. And he said it was Martian Stew—”
“Martians are green!”
“Yeah, because Martians are green, and the veggies are green—”
“And you’ll be ‘mart—”
“Yeah, and vegetables help with brain development.”
“And big brains make you ‘mart.”
By the time they’ve finished filling me in on Jesse’s mealtime indiscretion, June looks positively insulted.
“He tried to make that our dinner, Mom.”
“Did you eat it?” I ask, trying to wrangle my laugh. I’m more curious than anything else.
“Ew. No.” June sticks her tongue out and closes her eyes tight.
“We got pizza!” Jude shouts with glee.
Ah. So that’s why Jesse ordered pizza last night. And here I thought it was just because he wanted pizza for dinner, and not because my children rejected his Martian Stew.
“He is going to have to do dinner with you, but I’ll make sure he knows what to make, okay?” I should have done that yesterday before I left, but everything happened so quickly that it slipped my mind.
Martian Stew? What on Earth.
The doorbell rings, and Jude shoots from the table.
“I’LL GET IT!” he yells as he darts toward the front door.
Seconds later, Jesse is sauntering into my kitchen, hand held hostage by Jude, wearing a shirt that says “Ask me about my feminist agenda,” red and black Nikes, and joggers. His hair is tousled, and he’s got that permanent smirk affixed to his face. I smirk back.
“Martian stew?”
He bites his lip and looks at the ceiling, then glances playfully at June and Jude.
“Snitches,” he teases, then puts all his attention on me. “I’m not much of a cook, but I know the food pyramid. It was an honest attempt, at least.”
“You could have texted me.”
“Didn’t want to distract you. Clinicals are important.”
I shake my head. “Well, come here, Gordon Ramsey, and I’ll give you instructions for dinner before I head out.”
My smile carriesthrough the day, despite it being grueling. I enjoy clinicals. I’m good at my job and having the CNA experience helps immensely. But it’s still stressful. It’s still exhausting. It’s still work.
I was lucky to get into this CNA to RN bridge program. I can do most of the coursework online, and any clinicals I can’t complete at Harvest View, I’m able to do on the weekends with the nursing school at Butler U. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be done with the program, have passed my NCLEX exam, and will be a registered nurse by July.
I just have to make it to the end.