My Head is Going to Explode!

There is a nasty viral sinus bug going around up here in my neck of the woods.  I have several patients who have come down with it.  My baby had it a week ago and it caused a cough that made her sound like a puppy dog when she coughed.  I am not kidding, it was literally a bark.  My sweet lover and I caught it about the same time, but he was feeling better yesterday.  I, however, was not.  As the day progressed, my sinuses were so full of pressure that I thought my eyeballs were going to pop out of my head.  Every few minutes, I would press on my eye sockets just to make sure my eyes hadn't shifted from their normal position.  We went out to dinner last night and I couldn't even taste my meal.  What a waste!  By about 7 PM, I couldn't take it anymore so I went on the hunt for some relief.  It appeared in the form of a severe cold formulation that happened to have a bit of Unisom in it.  I was hoping it would dry out some of my secretions and because I was so miserable, I took the first dose in the store before I had even purchased the medication.   Jared and I then headed home to work on some paneling in my middle bathroom.  Check me out:

I could barely keep my eyes open!  I would sit on the tub or the John, wait for Jared to make the next cut, and then have him drag me up to help hang the panel.  I thought, "why is my mouth so damn dry and why am I so tired?!"  Then I remembered, duh!  Unisom!  When I crawled into bed, it didn't take long to crash completely into deep sleep!  I woke up this morning dry as a bone and hungover from the lingering drowsiness that happens for me with old antihistamines like Unisom.

Stupid sinus infection!  And stupid Unisom!  I have a beautiful love hate relationship with you!  I hate your side effects, but love the wonderful sleepy feeling you give me even at small doses!  I'm still congested and coughing a bit today, but as the Unisom fog is slowly clearing, I think I might actually be improving.  I decided it was in my best interest to lay off of the cold medication during the day so I can actually function.  I also considered drinking more water today to help my lingering symptoms to clear but...

Ahhhh

Due to some major life changes I have coming up, I'm in a hurry to complete my bathroom renovations.  I now have all three ripped up in some area or another.  Here's the middle tub I'm trying to fix:

Since the upstairs bathroom is totally out of commission, and I had the brilliant idea to recaulk the downstairs shower, I had no place to wash my crevices today.  As such, Jared and I ran to the YMCA to take a shower.  

This sounded like a really great idea until I realized how awful it is to leave the house  in Idaho Falls right now.  Awful, because it's colder than a witches tit!  Just how cold is that?  Cold enough to explode 10 soda cans in the back of my van after I left them there to hide them from my kleptomaniac kids!  Cold enough that my ovaries shrivel just a bit when I step outside.  Cold enough that it was only 0 degrees at 1 pm when we left to cleanse our filth!

My elder girls refuse to shower at the Y.  Hannah feels like she will be murdered in the showers, and Kayley likes her privacy.  What are they blabbing about?  These are first class accommodations!

They have been showering at my mom's or my brother's for the last 2 days.  Suit yourself I say!  Unfortunately, it was almost as cold inside the Y as out.  So cold in fact, that I doubted whether the water would ever get warm.  When it finally did, I didn't want to get back out of the shower!  I was caught in a conundrum until I remembered the sauna right in the shower area.  I strolled into that bad boy, naked as a jay bird, and figured that anyone who was also showering during the bitter cold of winter would understand.  I took in my underpants and let them crackle in the heat on the bench beside me while I began to dry almost instantaneously.  My hair nearly dried within about 5 minutes.  My buttcrack and lady bits dried out beautifully as well.  This was particularly delicious because I NEVER dry the inside of my butt.  I prefer the air dry technique over contaminating my towel for my next shower.  Dry butt crack was absolutely transcendent!  Check me out!

I let out an audible sigh!  As the hot air became more and more difficult to breathe, I decided to put on my scorching hot underpants.  It was sublime!  How is it that I have never considered the post-shower sauna before?!  Imagine how green I could be if I never needed another towel?!  I strolled out, just a little disappointed that no one else was around for me to share my new found gospel with, and got dressed.  I was so over toasty, that when we left for home, the cold drive didn't even faze me.

I don't care what my daughters think, I love you YMCA!  I'd come shower every day if it wasn't for my hubby.  I like to see him naked as often as possible, so daily showers just won't work for me.  How about every other Tuesday?...

Babies, Hatchets, and Bathtubs

I have not slept in my own bed for about five nights.  I instead have spent my week up at the hospital trying to usher five new lives into this world.  That's right folks, it averages out to about 24 hours a baby because all my ladies this week were first timers.  

At the end of my seemingly endless week, my family met me in Rigby so my kids would remember what I looked like.  After munching Bambinos on my daddy's dime, we headed over to hang at the folks.  Upon entering, I noticed my mom's new advent calendar:

My mom is holding a butcher's knife to illustrate that "Machado" means hatchet in Spanish.  When I still couldn't figure out what was going on, mom told me it was an embroidery error of someone's last name, so she got it from Downeast Outfitters for 7 bucks.  "The dowel is worth 7 bucks," she exclaimed!  I love my mommy!  The only person cheaper than me is my dear old madre (mom in Spanish)!

After trying to humiliate my mom for her supreme frugalness for awhile, I decided to take a bath to top off my evening.  Unfortunately for me, the second the faucet turns on, or the word "bath" escapes my lips, at least one of my three youngest children appear out of thin air to crash my party.  Tonight was no exception.  I don't usually discourage this behavior for two main reasons:

     1.  It takes less water to fill the tub

     2.  Hilarious anatomy lessons often ensue

Bubba crawled in and asked if my boobies only come out at night.  It took me awhile to figure out she was referring to my nipples; which happen to be far more interesting than her mosquito bites if she'd like to know!  I informed her that this is what adult female breasts and nipples look like.  She informed me that she happens to hate the way mine look.  She then inspected my navel and asked how deep I thought it went.  When I told her I didn't know exactly, she rammed her finger in my belly button up to the third knuckle and asked if I thought it felt weird.  Why no, Bub!  Cram that finger in up to your wrist!

Despite my initial generosity with my tub time, it doesn't take me long to get sick of my kids.  I kicked Bubba and Lily out after exactly 5 minutes and thought I might finally get a moment's peace.  Not to be!  This guy came in while I was dressing, claiming he wanted a peek:

The truth was, he needed to pee.  Sexy, I know.

I only have two nights left in this hellacious week, and I'm sure hoping I get to spend them in my own bed.  Maybe I'll ask my mom to use her "machado" to cut all phone communications so no more pregnant ladies can find me.  THAT would be worth 7 bucks...

Are You Kidding Me?!

I've received a wonderful holiday gift.  The meth house owners (see my What The?! post) are all going to prison for several years and have lost their house during their court proceedings.  Don't get me wrong.  I feel badly that they have made poor choices to place them in their current predicament, but I'm also sad about their dumpy house being so close to mine.  It's nothing personal you see, I just want someone to fix it up and take down the "Asshole's Garage" sign over their driveway!

Jared told me he thought they had to have their stuff out by the first of January, so I wasn't surprised to see folks with trucks outside, moving things today.  In fact, I watched this dude walk to the back of the house and wondered if he was the new owner out checking the perimeter.  Turned out he did this:

He's urinating!  I apologize for the poor quality, but I was spying through my door.  I didn't want to open the door for a better pic in case I startled him and I got a peek of his business when he turned around.  I have a deeply held belief that the penis is an ugly trick of nature and I refuse to look at any of them except the one I'm married to.  That's why midwifery is such a great profession for me...  No penises!  

Once he settled his junk back in his pants, he walked back to his buddies cleaning out the house.  I yelled at Jared, "see!  I told you nearly every man ignores hygiene protocol!  He didn't wash his hands!"  Then the bigger question arose between us:  why didn't he go into the house and use the facilities?!  I then thought of this guy:

That's my brother Jeff with his new baby. This idiot is a grown man and will walk right past my bathroom to piss off my deck out back!  Am I married to one of the very select few that are decent, kind, and hygienic?!  My man certainly isn't perfect, but in 17 years of marriage, I've never even seen a drop of pee on my toilet after he gets done in the John!

Despite my disgust with the idiot urinating across the street, I calmed my rage with the thought that I may have some new neighbors soon that will finally finish siding the meth house, and hopefully stay drug free in the process.  It's a lovely thought!

I'm a Lunatic

Jared and I own a beauty of an old home built in 1925.  For the last 8 years, we have been slowly renovating it.  Most of my family think I'm a lunatic for the amount of work and mess I am willing to live with during my projects.  Several siblings have espoused the virtues of new construction homes, but I refuse to listen.  It gives me purpose as well as a sense of satisfaction with each home repair I complete.

The problem with old homes, is that no matter how small you think a project will be, it just ends up snowballing into a gigantic fiasco.  For example, I started renovating my upstairs bathroom about two years ago.  Not only is it still not finished, but my middle level bathroom is also out of commission since I decided to replace all the plumbing in the joint while I was in mess mode.  We're down to one shower and we all have to travel three flights to use it.  It's absolutely ridiculous, but it's my life, and I have to live with the consequences of my poor decisions.

Tonight, I decided there was a spot on my downstairs bathroom ceiling that I didn't like.  It was supposed to be a quick fix.  Just a patch, some mud work, and a quick paint job until I renovate it for real someday...

I got the patch up, (the big hole is the pipe chase - it's supposed to be there) but couldn't figure out why one of the corners was bugging me.  Before I knew it, this happened:

That's the back of my hallway closet, now totally exposed in the bathroom.  Some idiot screwed it up and I couldn't help ripping it down.  Here's how Jared and I felt about it:

To the untrained eye, he might look like he always does in pics.  With my expertise however, I could immediately tell he was exasperated with me.  I started to outline my grand plans to repair that crappy closet and he not so politely reminded me that if I wasn't careful, I was going to have a toilet and sink on one floor, a shower on a second floor, and the third floor without any facilities at all.  He finished by stating, "I like to be able shower, poop, and wash my hands when I'm home."

When I told him I was going to blog about his current predicament, he suggested I take pics of all three bathrooms to adequately represent his living conditions.  I yelled, "NO!  I DONT WANT ANYONE TO KNOW I'M A LUNATIC!"  He just looked at me condescendingly and as usual, helped me clean up the mess for the night.  

He's right you know.  I am most definitely a lunatic.  Unfortunately for me, I'm pretty sure everyone who is acquainted with me already knows the truth as well...

I'm Dying...

My niece, Kate from Coeur d'Alene, made the state drama competition which is being held in Idaho Falls this year.  Therefore, we were lucky enough to hang with her and watch her perform.  We watched tonight's round at Bonneville High School whose mascot happens to be the bee.  Let me digress and say that I'm considering starting a petition to have the name changed because look at this guy...

What's up with his nose?  Bees don't use their noses to sting!  He's also too aggressive for my taste given my love of the honeybee.  This is just perpetuating myths about my beloved gals!  My mom interrupted my diatribe by suggesting he was an Africanized honey bee, or maybe a "bee"otch...  She then lost her train of thought because she thought it looked like he had a penis bulge from the front which of course is absolutely ridiculous...

Luckily for me, my mom wasn't the only freak at the competition.  See my dad being creepy with this young lady?

He had seen her earlier, crying her eyes out in front of some lockers.  Being a tender hearted weirdo, he tried to comfort her and offer assistance - forgetting he was at a drama competition.  She just stared at him and told him she was practicing.  He told me about it later and muttered that he wasn't going to talk to anyone else at this stupid function!  Poor guy got his feelings hurt, but at least this high school kiddo has some wicked acting skills!

In my folks's defense, I myself was a bit of a dork once I found Kate...

What's with my tongue?  It totally looks fake!  I was so proud!  Kate played a patient with ovarian cancer in her monologue.  In hindsight, I wish I would have known just how serious the "solo serious" classification was!  I listened to a bit about infantacide, a tirade about same sex relations and religion, and even heard some pimply dude yell:  ASSHOLE and no one even cared!  By the time Kate's group was done, I felt driven to drink just to take the edge off!  Thankfully, my dad bought candy at the concession stand for my little ones since they kept their yaps shut for one whole hour.  Nothing like a bag of Nibs to make me feel human again.

Yep, it was good to see my northern niece and enjoy her talents.  She'll find out tomorrow how well she did.  I personally think she should win just because she said "ovaries," several times.  It's a word I can definitely get behind!

The Ravages of War

Bubba had an accident yesterday.

She was showering, slipped on the shower floor, and whacked her head on the bottom shower track.  The huge amount of blood flowing from that head wound turned my other four babies into sniveling, sobbing, idiots who ran around screaming like chickens with their heads cut off.  I had to tell Lily and Bub specifically to get it together - that this was going to be fine.  I just couldn't take the boobing!

Of course I knew the gash would need some closure, most likely staples.  Since I don't carry around a vagina repair kit, off to the Community Care we went.  The wait would have been far more intolerable if there hadn't been a huge family there discussing the benefit of using magnets to heal all manner of health problems.  One of the lead instigators of the conversation even stood up to demonstrate for the others how to apply the magnet, sticking the two ends of his necklace behind his ears and letting it "pull" him around the room.  I might have been more open to his interpretation of this western medicine alternative if he wasn't standing there with a Dum Dum sucker clenched in his teeth - one of about 20 suckers each member of the family had fisted out of the basket on the front desk!  Manners people, manners.  I digress...  Here Bub and I are, halfway through our two hour wait:

And fast-forward to the four staples she took like a boss...

She got a box of ice cream sandwiches for taking her lumps like a man.  I figured all the accident drama was over for a while - until I heard a weird noise downstairs this morning.  I called Lily up to investigate, only to find out she was pretending that her leg had been blown off in war.

Emma was helping her limp around I guess.  Here's their improvisation from the back side:

That's her foot tucked up in her pants!  What?!  Does anyone else think this is weird?!  Weirder still, Bub was in the thick of the war story with them.  You just cracked your skull open for real, but you'll role play mass destruction and maiming of others?!  I gotta have these freaks commited.  Anyone know a good shrink?

Liar!

I'm surrounded by liars.  Some, like my dad, lie only when they think they might get some laughs.  Case in point:  my folks have a dead mouse they caught in their basement light after mom heard one scrambling around.  It's been dead in the trap for over a year.  I don't know why the jerks won't clean it up, but every time you mention it, my dad lies about it being a fake cause he hopes some sucker will open the light and have a disgusting mouse mummy drop on them.

I know he's a joker liar, so the mummy mouse continues his slow decomposition.  My mommy is usually quite tidy so I haven't figured out her motivation.  However, it's possible she's trying to bug me.  Mission accomplished.

The biggest liars in my life are my rotten kids.  Some of them can't lie and are also rats, so it's wonderful when they are involved in any clandestine kid behavior.  Others start a lie but cave under pressure.  Exactly two are bold faced liars and will take their secret to the grave.  These liars are the worst because no punishment will bring the truth to light.

This week was particularly awful because I am missing 2 dozen eggs.  At least I'm almost positive I am.  That's the problem with good liars, after a while you wonder if you're the crazy one when they won't give it up.  I just want to know what happened to those stupid eggs because what in the world could you possibly do with that many?!  

Given that Christmas is about a month away, I figured the threat of losing a visit from the fat elf would draw the liar out.  Nope.  In fact, it created more lies as the girls attempted to win back Christmas.  Emma has been the most active.  Her first lie was a claim that she whacked them all with a bat and buried them in the frozen garden.  Her best?  A clever concoction worded thusly:

When I asked her how many she gave to her friends she said "six each."  Well at least her math is right!  What am I supposed to do now?!  I want Santa to visit me and the egg thief is no closer to coming clean than she was a week ago!  I'm sick of feeling mentally inferior to five rotten female babies - 50 percent of whom can't keep their panties whizz free for 24 hours at a time! I think I prefer my dad's lies.  In fact, maybe I'll go let the mouse mummy drop on me just to see if I'll feel any better!  It can't be any worse than missing Kris Kringle!

Help! I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!

Today I got to go watch these weasels get their first trimester honor roll certificates.  

The school always hands out perfect attendance recognition awards at these things, but in 16 years, none of my babies has ever gotten one.  Part of the reason for this, is that I think perfect attendance folks are big fat nerds!  In fact, the schools here in Idaho give an award to the senior/s that manage to have perfect attendance through their entire school career.  I always try to memorize those names so that if I meet them again, I can slug them for being a damn weirdo!  Life's too short not to take a few days off for absolutely no reason at all.  Like yesterday, when I let Kayley skip so she could help me grocery shop.  I kept her from being a freak, and she kept me from losing it during the mommy task I hate only slightly less than I hate laundry!

Of course I brought a Diet Dr Pepper refill into the festivities.  I wondered if someone would kick me out for it, but no one did, so I got to sip my beverage happily while all the fools around me clapped their heads off for all the good kiddos at the school.  I was happy about it; happy that is, until the diuretic effect of my drink kicked in and I suddenly needed to pee.  I had forgotten how little everything is in elementary school johns.  As in, tiny! Here's the pretty throne I peed in:

I stuck my leg out so you could see it comes up to just under mid calf.  I was a little nervous about getting down there, let alone getting back up, but I really had to pee!  Once I sat down, my knees were up to my boobs, so I had to straighten them out while I did the deed so my lungs wouldn't be punctured by my knees!

For a split second, I worried about getting back up!  I knew Bubba wasn't going to be able to help haul my fat can up, so I considered screaming "FIRE," to encourage someone to come running to my aid!  However, since my bladder is sort of fussy these days, and dribbling after the fact sometimes occurs, I decided to figure it out so no one would see my shame.  I made it up and Bub and I even washed our hands in one of the short sinks.  Check it out:

Given my last post, maybe some of you are wondering if this bathroom debacle will finally encourage me to give up the sauce for good ole' H2O:

Uhhh, nope!

Hurry Up!

I may have a Diet Dr. Pepper problem.  MAY...  I won't discuss just how much I actually consume on a daily basis, but I will admit that sometimes I realize I haven't had a drop of pure H20 to drink before I lay my lovely head down on my pillow at night.  Yesterday, I went to get my fix with my sweet lover at the local convenience store since fountain Diet Dr. Pepper is the sweetest elixir of all.  By the time we arrived, Bubba had convinced me that she deserved a hot chocolate and once the car was parked, she jumped out to get her favorite beverage.  I was so focused on getting my fix that I didn't notice what she was wearing until she hopped out:  high heeled shoes her sisters passed down for dress up.  She could barely walk in the suckers and made a very loud "clack clack" with every step.  It was harshing my gig because I wanted my soda and I wanted it quick!  Normally, I encourage my kids to be weirdos and the shoes wouldn't have bothered me...  IF I had not been in need of a soda.  As it turned out, I tried to be patient long enough for her to get in the store, then I went about procuring soda refills and hot cocoa while she "clack clacked" to catch up to me at her own pace.

I calmed down once I had a sip of my favorite brown liquid, but then I had to wait until the little one slowly "clack clacked" her way to the car.  Here she is barely staying afloat while trying to keep her cocoa upright.

Worse yet, on the way to the car, Jared got accosted by an ex-con who wanted to let my man know that he was now flying right, so it took even LONGER to get back to the vehicle.  Here's how I felt when I finally settled in with my drink:

The fact that I am even blogging about this experience might lead some to believe I have at least one disgusting habit that needs to be changed.  My response?  You're right!  I'm going to stop bringing my kids with me on my Diet Dr. Pepper runs so that I can get my fix faster!

Bite Me

This is the eldest of my younger brothers, Jameson:

I personally never use his given name because to me, he's the Pasty Bastard.  Why?  Well, a myriad of reasons really, but his skin tone plays no small part in his nickname.  Here's proof:

In many ways, he is truly glorious, and I respect him.  However, he mainly makes my stomach turn, and for that, I respect him more. 

The PB actually is a fun dude to hang around with since he usually brings fun and unusual board, card, or video games when he comes to visit.  His nieces and nephews also appreciate that he's working on his Masters in mathematics because he's always willing to Skype them; acting like their personal long distance math tutor.

For my children specifically, my brother also possesses a unique gift that my daughters despise:  His big fat mouth.  I'm not sure when it started, but apparently he wanted to eat something one of my daughters had in their possession.  He must have taken a mighty generous chomp, because now whenever my kiddos want to share some food with someone else, the person who is sharing says one of two things.

    1.  Don't take a Jameson Bite

    2.  YOU JUST TOOK A JAMESON BITE!!!

In case you were wondering, the Jameson Bite is not a scientific unit of measurement, but is instead a subjective and often random unit of volume.  Essentially, anything bigger than a crumb constitutes a Jameson Bite.  The Jameson Bite also only applies to something solid you can wrap your mouth around since if you get a spoonful of something from one of my kids, they can ensure a Jameson portion is not distributed.

Two days ago, I was sharing a quesadilla with Bubba.  I took my fair chomp and what do you think she said?  "HEY MOMMA, YOU TOOK A JAMESON BITE!"  It suddenly dawned on me that my youngest turd probably has no idea what that phrase really means.  She hears it every time her sisters share a bite with someone, so I bet she thinks it's just polite dinner conversation.

Jameson heard my kids using this phrase in context during one of his visits a while back and he was offended.  I was a bit surprised that he would dispute it because I have seen him in action and he  ABSOLUTELY takes Jameson Bites!  I also believe he ought to spend more time repairing all the other offensive parts of his personality instead of worrying about something so trivial as his mouth size.  News Flash brother:  You're a freak!

Herding Cats

Despite my threats on my previous post, I can't foresee ever needing the assistance of a ghost writer.  Why would I need to pay 8 bucks for someone else's brain juices when I have limitless creative juices in the form of my kids squirting all over my house every day of my life?  Take for instance the conversation I had with my eldest today about whether or not I had run out of cheese.  I will freely admit it's always a possibility, but given that I constantly have at least 4-5 different types of cheese in varying amounts in my fridge, her suggestion that I was low, let alone out, seemed unlikely.  I expressed innocent incredulity with her accusations, so she sent me this passive aggressive piece of interpretive art:

I pondered how to punish her insolence all day.  Luckily, I didn't have to wait too long because she said something incredible at dinner tonight.  

You see, my brother got himself a kitty cat named Harvey recently and my teens think they deserve one too.  Jared and I adopted a no animal policy about two years ago after a long stretch of really horrible pets.  I'm not kidding.  It's like we had the exorcist movie in animal form playing on a loop in our house!  Crazy cats that burrowed into crawl spaces and then snarled, clawed, and chomped on your arms and neck if you tried to get them out.  Or how about several breeds of dogs and cats leaking out of every orifice and onto every surface EXCEPT in litter boxes or outside on the lawn?  We owned one cat I liked enough to pay actual money to spay and she disappeared!  I became convinced we were cursed and our home possessed by evil animal karma of some sort.  I guess I could have hired a priest to perform an exorcism, but since I'm cheap, we decided just to outlaw every animal in our house except the five female human ones we were already stuck with.

Flashback to the dinner table where I was accosted for the umpteenth time about getting a stupid kitty.  When I outlined yet again how I had no desire to play cat turd hide and seek, Kayley said, "Don't worry, I'll train the cat!"  I didn't quite catch on at first, but I got it eventually.  She meant she would teach the kitty how to use the litter box!  

The bedlam that ensued was incredible.  Jared pretended to dig in a litter box while talking the kitty through its dump.  I wisely told Kayley it would be like herding cats.  All the other girls just laughed.  Here's Kayley hiding her face and feeling sheepish indeed:

I pointed out to Kaykey that kitties are a lot like human babies - Their mommy has to teach them all the important stuff from the get go or they are ruined, snarling, messes that can't use a litter box even if you show them one!  See Kayley?  Your mommy just blogged about something really embarassing to teach you that I may have run out of cheese, but I still come out on top when the kitty litter hits the fan!

The First 48... Reprise

One of the best things about being a midwife is all the time I spend sitting around talking to ladies in labor.  When they are unmedicated, I get snatches of gossip in 2-3 minute intervals while waiting for the next contraction to come. Then I wait around for a minute or so for the contraction to pass and the gossip starts up again right where it left off.  For some, it might seem like an odd way to carry on a conversation, but for me, it's natural.  Just like its natural for me to get dressed for a delivery when I start hearing pooping noises.  

I've learned all sorts of great stuff from these quick snatches of conversation.  Like how to improve cyber security and what makes a building more hurricane safe.  This weekend I was caught at the hospital for close to another 48 hour stretch and learned that many popular bloggers use ghost writers.  That's right!  Here I am trying to make a legitimate fortune with my fantastic wit, and the sweet lady sweating and moaning with contractions next to me admitted she's a ghost writer and makes 8 bucks a post for someone else!  8 bucks?!  I haven't even made 8 cents!  And how much is the cheapskate that's paying you making on your 8 dollar post?!  I didn't get any answers about it because she birthed her baby right soon after and it seemed rude to press for more info when I had to spend some obligatory time gushing about the new slimy baby wriggling around on her tummy.

I actually had to deliver said slimy baby barefoot.  Well, not totally, I did have shoe covers on:

Please don't turn me into OSHA!  You see, I had worn a dress to the office on Friday and didn't pack my regular work shoes.  Therefore, when I got stuck at the hospital instead of coming home, I begged my sweet lover to bring me my work shoes so I didn't have to deliver babes in high heels.  Unfortunately, he forgets lots of stuff I ask for so he came up to eat dinner... sans shoes.

I probably should have held a grudge, but instead I watched Moonrise Kingdom in the dark with him at my office.  Check it out, it feels almost scandalous!

Don't you dare accuse me of doing anything sexy!  If you had any idea about the type of stuff that falls onto every surface I work around, you would understand that no amount of Viagra could make anyone feel like getting it on in my office.  Sorry Marvin Gaye.  My lover went home without anything more than a goodnight kiss and I had to stay for more laboring ladies.

The next afternoon, I finally finished my birthing duties and Jared was supposed to meet me at my folks to watch the Utah game and bring me some shoes.  He forgot the stupid shoes again, so we went home and he appeased me with a romantic dinner at Olive Garden with his five rat kids while shouting the game scores over the Saturday night din.  

Not a bad 48 hours I guess.  My low back is a little sore from standing barefoot on the hospital floors for 2 days, but my tummy is still satisfied from shrimp and chicken carbonara and WAY too many Olive Garden breadsticks.  Plus, when I see the ghost writer for her follow up, I've decided to ask her if she can help me get famous a little faster with my blog.  I've got 8 bucks I can spare...

Leave Me Alone!

Since I have been partner-less for nearly a year now, there is a ridiculous number of women wandering around southeast Idaho with my personal cell phone number.  It's a long story as to why I finally gave up trying to keep my number secret from the hoards of baby making ladies up here, but the diverse types of texts, pics, and phone calls I get all to myself, has made the inconvenience worth it.

When I leave town occasionally to collect my wits, it stresses me out a little because I feel badly when my ladies reach me and I have to tell them I can't be with them during their birth.  It's so much easier and less guilt provoking to hear about their blessed event after the fact!  However, since I can still receive texts and pics when I'm out of town, I can at least feel helpful to most of my ladies.  The problem with being "helpful" is that I receive loads of nasty ass pics and personal information from just about everyone.  Worse yet, I find nothing unusual or disturbing about any of it!  I really do have a crazy life!  I've had women send me pics of their rashes, their husband's rashes, maxi pads, vaginal discharge, and infected umbilical cords, just to name a few.  I've read texts about every intimate detail in a woman's life you can possibly imagine as well as every bodily function.  And don't even get me started on the wild phone conversations I'm always having!  And if you think for one second I'm exaggerating about any of this, just give me a number to reach you with, I have multiple ways to prove it!

I know one crazy lady in particular who I don't even consider a patient anymore.  She and I have had so many conversations since her last baby that she's practically family.  And just like one of my kin, she is constantly trying to annoy me with loads of really disrespectful pictures and texts.  For instance, a few weeks ago when she knew I was up slaving to catch a baby at the hospital, she bugged me with this:

She was rubbing in the fact that I still haven't tried the fish and chips at a local pub called the Celt.  Guess what I ate that night?  Lorna Doones and Diet Dr. Pepper - because as outlined in other posts, I am disgusting.

My tormentor played it cool for a few weeks but just texted me this a couple of days ago:

As if I care!  It looks horrible!  We then had a mildly hostile conversation about whether Reed's Dairy was in fact better than any other ice cream shop on God's green earth.  It's lucky she was texting when she told me she didn't care for Reed's because if she'd been near me, she might have lost half her face!

You know what "nameless stranger?"  That's it!  I'm not going to take the abuse lying down anymore!  Two can play at the offensive game.  Check out this pic I took just for you:

You know what this is?  you better think it's a pic of my butt!  Because if you tell me it's just a pic of my elbow crease like my hubby did, you really will lose half your face!  Now, let's go get some chocolate milk at Reed's Dairy and look at some vaginal discharge pictures together...  I'm buying!

Typical Halloween

Halloween with my family is a blessed, crazy affair steeped in tradition and loads of candy.  The basic framework is always the same:  soup, cornbread, and cider at my mom's, followed with endless amounts of lunatic behavior.  

The day started horribly for me since today happened to be the day I went back into the gym after my summer hiatus.

This is exactly how I feel about being back in the boring gym.  Notice I have not combed my hair.  I feel the same about personal hygiene during workouts as I do during camping; it's pointless.  I'm going to shower and comb my hair after my workout so there's no sense in wasting time or water prior to strenuous exercise.  I'm sure there's plenty of folks who have been impacted by my behavior that would like to weigh in on this issue, but as usual, I just don't care.

I was worried my crummy exercise would put a damper on the rest of my day, but fortunately, Bubba gave me a wonderful surprise on the way to grandma's...

That's right.  She's disgusting.  I told her 10 times to knock it off, but the only reason she finally gave it up was when I threatened to take away her trick or treating privileges.

I shouldn't have worried too much about my day improving because once we arrived at the folks, I calmed right down and began to enjoy myself as usual.  My favorite Halloween traditions revolve around my dad, the freak, and his three tiered treat system:

  1 - full sized candy bars for all the kids he likes.

  2 - mini candy bars for kids he knows but doesn't like

  3 - cheap nasty candy like Smarties for everyone else.  

That old man is committed to his system.  No one else is allowed to answer the door or distribute his wealth.  Dad's neighborhood is really busy and he spends a small fortune and hours of meticulous planning to ensure proper candy coverage.  He's nuts.  This year, dad forgot his mini candy bars and didn't have a reasonable excuse.  I personally believe he was distracted by Dexter, since it's the first Halloween he's been with us.  Dad was so worried about that dumb cat escaping, that I don't think he could concentrate on anything else.  Here was his solution until the doorbell stopped ringing:

Dad literally stands by his front door almost constantly for about five hours.  He peeks through the glass at the top of the door so he knows what candy to hand out based on who's coming up the stairs.  It's lunacy and I love it.

Besides the yummy soup, I also get pretty excited about this important family tradition:

These stupid plastic arms show up every year and someone invariably spends time picking their nose with them, scratching their crotch with them, scratching someone else's bum with them, or eating dinner with them.  EVERY YEAR.  And yes, sometimes that someone is me.  I make a mental note every Halloween to wash them given the promiscuous activities they are involved in each year, but I always forget. I hope bum germs die when boxed up between holidays.

Another favorite tradition is the costume picture we used to take on the porch.  The babies keep coming so now we shoot it on the lawn.  I used to have more of my siblings living nearby so the pic used to be larger.  However, it's still pretty special watching everyone's kids growing through the years and knowing you can always count on your family to show you a good time as long as you stop by to hang out with them.

Happy Halloween everyone.  Hope your day was as great as mine! 

Duck Rape

Warning!  This post involves some graphic nature videos.  If you are offended by duck boobies or turtle genitals, now is the time to look away!  I believe, as usual, I may continue... 

I have already established numerous times that I am an individual devoid of couth or boundaries.  Strangely enough, anyone who works around a labor and delivery unit in any capacity tends to develop a keen appreciation for anything slightly off color as well.  For instance, one of the labor nurses had stumbled onto animal copulation of some sort with one of her children and had to have an impromptu discussion about human sexual relations with the unfortunate youngster.  Not wanting to be outdone, I recalled a time when Jared and I had stumbled upon animal copulation in a park when we still lived in Utah.  Specifically, it was duck mating.  I outlined for this nurse how violent duck sex is.  The first time I saw nature's gang rape I was appalled.  I described how I futilely kept trying to chase the drakes off of the poor battered hen and Jared told me to leave nature alone.  I was disturbed for weeks, and still to this day wish ducks would start their own feminist movement to stop such nasty and insulting behavior.  The nurse almost didn't believe me, until one of the physicians backed up my story with facts of his own.  Namely, a drake he owns named Billy that has broken the necks of several of his chickens because he doesn't have a duck hen to maul.  As Watson put it, "chicken necks just can't take the rape!"  In case there are some Thomases that doubt me, check it Yo...

I had almost forgotten about Billy the rapist duck until this weekend.  Several of the nurses and I had gotten on the subject of how nasty human genitals are. Several alternative designs were presented until Dr Hymas, one of the pediatricians, told us humans have nothing on turtles.  Since he is one of the BIGGEST squares I know, I like to believe he gleaned this information from his children's pets, since I don't think that prude even knows where babies come from!  I tried to shock him with my duck rape story, but he insisted the turtle penis would shock me since it "looks like an alien or something..."  Because YouTube can prove whether or not you are a liar in exactly one second, we all searched the topic together.  You know what?  Hymas was right!  Check out the creepy music with this video.  None of us could breathe!

I couldn't wait to show this video to Jared when I got home!  He not only thought there was nothing weird or abnormal with nature's design of the tortoise penis, he insinuated I was weird and abnormal for being interested in it!  This guy backs Mother Nature all the way apparently!  He further ruined my day when he mentioned the suicide smocks they use in the jail are called "turtle suits."  I got all excited about the blogging potential he was in possession of, but he condescendingly refused to go get one from the jail and model it for me.

You know what buddy?  You and all the rapist drakes and alien tortoise penises can hang out together in your "turtle suits" from now on if you think you're so cool.  I'll just wallow in the muck and filth with all my Labor and Delivery friends where I belong...  Well, everyone but Hymas that is.  He's still trying to figure out where babies come from... 

All I need is a Good Suit

My sexy lover is in need of a new suit.  I wasn't really paying attention to how ratty he looks since he only wears the thing on Sundays.  In my defense, it's easy to overlook his dress up attire because every other day of the week, he is either in his deputy uniform, or in jeans and a t-shirt.  I attempted to change his fashion sense during the first several years of our marriage, but was unable to upscale anything about him other than convincing him to don a pair of Dockers and dressier shoes when we go out to the theater.  His other major fashion crime is his love of sweatpants.  For years he wore them anytime he was physically inside our house and would change into and remain in them for as long as he reasonably could.  I know there is a lot of good rationale out there for why sweatpants are a horrible fashion choice.  I myself HATE them on dudes for only one reason:  I don't enjoy looking at sweatpant penis bulges.  I will admit I have stolen some bulge glances through other fabrics, but sweatpants make the bulge hang funny and I don't like it.  Pass judgement all you like - I will never change.

Given that Jared has zero fashion finesse, I often turn to my father to help me select nice men's clothing when the need arises.  My dad is the complete opposite of Jared because he is a diva.  A HORRIBLE DIVA.  His closet can put most fashionistas to shame, especially because he believes that the more expensive an item is, the more it belongs buttoned to his body.  My mother and I spend countless hours ridiculing his wacky habits, but I will admit the man is always put together very nicely, and he always smells good.  As such, I called him today to ask him what brand of suit he prefers to buy - Hart Schaffner Marx apparently.  Turns out these suits are very nice and rather pricey as well.  Anxious to keep me from being deterred by the price tag, my dad suggested I try driving to ZCMI in Salt Lake City because they have a bigger selection and slightly better pricing.  He then took it one step further:  "besides, you can meet the midget salesman they have there."

Let me take a minute to explain that I was not surprised for one instant to hear such a comment escape my father's lips.  Nearly every member of my immediate family (except me because I am refined) has a weird fettish with red-headed individuals and little people.  I have been unable to understand the fascination and am trying to help my children stop gawking like slack jawed idiots when they come across someone who is different from them.  I'm working hard on my girls' behavior, but unfortunately, I have had zero impact on my crazy family.  Just as a test, I texted my brother Sam (the biggest offender) to determine if he was in possession of any little people pics.  He not only had one, but two!  Check it out.

I guess this was really my fault.  Why in the world should I expect to have a normal conversation with my dad when I asked about something so inflammatory as a suit brand?  I had it coming really. Don't worry, I've learned my lesson.  When I talk to dad tomorrow, I'm going to discuss a topic he couldn't possibly offend anyone with.  I think I'll ask him what he thinks about race relations, same-sex marriage, and democrats...

I Got This!

This is my baby, Bubba:

Her christian name is Elizabeth Margarete with the Margarete part being shared with the granny sitting next to her in the pic.  In the four plus years I have known this little girl, I think I have called her Elizabeth a total of five times.  The entire family calls her Bubba.  In fact, my nieces and nephews think Bubba Johanson is her actual name.  My brother Jameson has heard her real name so infrequently, he can't ever remember what it is.  (It's Elizabeth you Pasty Bastard).  You know how some parents use first and middle names sometimes when they are mad with a child?  If I'm mad with Bubba, I call her "BUB" instead.

I think it's hilarious this nickname has stuck, since I consider her to be the furthest thing from a Bubba you can possibly get.  When I hear "Bubba," I think of a big, fat, toothless redneck sipping Coors Light from the bottle on his idling motorcycle.  Sometimes, I think of Bubba from Forrest Gump, but either way, it's a far cry from my petite, blonde sweetie.

I have a goal that when Bubba graduates from high school, I want to yell, "way to go Bubba!" from the audience.  Better still, I'd love her future boyfriends and/or hubby to call her Bubba as well.  Since all my other daughters' nicknames have disappeared once school started, I've been wracking my brain for strategies to keep the name going.  Lily suggested I tell her kindergarten teacher her name was Bubba and then the teacher wouldn't know her real name.  I had to politely inform Lil that teachers have a class role for a reason.  Can you imagine how many little turds would make up incredible names or expletives for the teacher to call them if this safeguard wasn't in place?!  

I was really worried about the future of Bubba's moniker until she came home from church today.  She has a program coming up and her part was sent home so she could memorize it.  Check it out...

There it is in black and white!  Despite the church having a role too, her teachers are obviously calling her Bubba, and they are prepared for her to announce her own nickname over the pulpit as well!  Eureka!  It can be done!  It is possible for my daughter to remain Bubba in school!  Now, I just have to figure out why they were willing to ignore the church roles so I can recreate the same outcome at school.  Any one have time to help me start the "Bubba Inquisition?"  Similar to the Spanish Inquistion but without all the torture and death?  I'll consider all applicants...

Sayonara Sucka

I have been driving a five speed, silver, Honda Accord for the last six years.  My whole family are Honda freaks.  Each of my normal siblings has owned at least one, and my parents currently own three.  My motorcycle is even a Honda!  As a side note, my poser sister Chris owns two lesbaru (Subaru) vehicles, but I don't understand 90% of what she does, so I don't count her as a contributing member of society anyway.

I have loved my car, especially because it's paid for.  Additionally, I was the only person who consistently didn't grind into second gear.  Therefore, my sweet ride made me feel like Danica Patrick in that every time I heard a grind, I could disdainfully stare at the driver from the passenger seat and mention how skilled I was at shifting.  I half expected a representative from Nascar to offer me a driving gig, but so far, my Indy 500 dream remains unrealized.

About a month ago, second gear started grinding for me too.  Then I couldn't consistently get it into gear.  Finally, it started popping out of gear.  I tried for a while to pretend only Jared was experiencing these problems, but when he rode shotgun with me one day and I sounded like a student driver trying to grind my transmission into oblivion, I had to admit something might be up with my silver wonder.

I drove it to the tranny guy and when he told me it would be two grand to fix it, I yelled, "damnit!  You're going to have to fix someone else's car today!"  Then I walked right out.  I just couldn't see the wisdom in spending that much on a car that already had 250,000 miles on it.  I decided to cut my losses and donate it to NPR for the tax break.  Despite my stiff upper lip, this is how I felt:

I bought my mommy lunch so she would help me look for a new one since she's a shrewd trader with a keen eye for a bargain.  My dad has a racist term for her talents which I will not repeat here.  Needless to say, I like having her around for just these occasions.  We test drove a Toyota Camry which was clean, tight, and priced to move, but it just didn't feel right somehow.  We finally ended up at a dealer who had a couple of Hondas we had earmarked from the start of our adventure.  When I slid behind the wheel of the 2008 V6 Accord they had, I suddenly felt right at home.  Mom wisely uttered, "feels like a Honda doesn't it."  I had to agree.  We ran her through her paces and I bought her immediately after the test drive.  I've decided to call her "Nicki" after Emma's spider hanging outside her window.  The best part?  The kick ass sunroof!

Emma told me she wants the car after I die and both the teenagers want it when they leave for college.  I guess I made a good choice.  So long silver bullet.  Thanks for your years of service.  Hope you can make someone at NPR as happy as you've made me.  Don't worry about me, I'm gonna be just fine.