What a Rack!

Prom is in about two weeks and my 16 year old was asked.  We actually went to the mall before the actual invitation because she's lovely and I knew there was no way some smart boy wouldn't want to take her.  Besides, I needed a modest prom dress and I was worried the longer we waited, the more the selection would dwindle.  Here's a pic to show how we felt about buying the dress.

You may notice that Kayley looks quite pleased and I look perturbed.  The following activity is more my style - sticking my finger in a mannequin's ass crack.  Look how happy I am!

I hate going to the mall for three main reasons:

1. I hate spending money on anything but eating out
2. I despise shopping for clothes for anyone - including myself
3. I detest the thought of Kayley going to prom

The problem isn't really prom, or dating, or even the boy that asked her who I happen to think is quite a nice young man.  The problem is Kayley's knockers!  I have been fascinated with those gorgeous mounds of flesh since they first sprouted during puberty.  Up to that moment in my life I really wasn't around big boobies much.  In my family you are either modestly endowed, or pitifully endowed.  The running joke is that my mom walks around with just nipples under her shirt.  When I went to pick her up for lunch a few months ago she said as we were leaving, "Crap!  Do I have to put on a bra?!"  My response?  "Do you think anyone would even notice if you didn't?"  My fascination with Kayley's chi chis has compounded as my own ta tas have evolved into breasts.  WHAT?  Listen folks, news flash:  breasts are what your mom and grandma have.  They become increasingly flat, oblong, flappy type things and the nipples grow ever closer to your waistline as the years tick forward.  I know what I'm talking about!  I'm a midwife and examine both titties and breasts and there is DEFINATELY a difference!  As I've watched my own modest glory transform I used to try and devise a way to stand behind Kayley and honk on her hooters just so that I would know what it felt like to have something so marvelous poking out in front of  me.  Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out a way to justify it without being a major creeper, so I had to abandon my plans.  If I, the mother, fantasize about these suckers, you can't tell me that every teenage boy who hangs around with Kayley isn't trying to concoct a way to rub up against those lovely lady humps!  Hence, my underlying problem with prom!  I have asked a million people how to keep the boys off of Kayley's titties and no one has been able to give me a satisfactory solution!

If you think I've been taking this problem lying down you would be dead wrong.  I first started trying to solve the problem by spreading a rumor that Kayley had head lice and dandruff.  Surely the boys would stay away!  Unfortunately, she is clean and nice so no one would spread the lies.  My next tactic was to have open and up front conversations about sex including STDs and pregnancy.  I tried to make her squirm with discomfort, but that only worked when the subject was new.  Ever heard the phrase:  beating a dead horse?  Given that my first 2 tactics did not make me any more comfortable about those giant boobies sitting in a car with some pervert, I finally upped the ante a hundred fold.  It has become my life's work, my opus so to speak.  My third and final tittie defense was to create a Pavlovian response to anything sexy.  My goal was not to create a dog that would salivate at the sound of Pavlov's bell, but to create a daughter that would break down in shivers because sex would make her think of her parents.  My attention to detail on this matter should be applauded.  I hacked her Facebook account with pics such as this:

I've spent multiple hours texting Snapchat pics that finally ended with her sending me this gem:

I also spend a lot of time kissing Jared in front of my kids and liking it!  I'm pretty sure one day Kayley will appreciate all my efforts on her behalf.  I'm not sure when, but I hope it's soon.  In the meantime, to all the would be teenage honkers in the crowd:  Keep your hands off those titties!

Shove it Kaden!!!

Dear Kaden from daycare,

I'm respectfully writing to call your attention to a matter which occurred as a result of the following boo boo:

I'm not sure how Bubba acquired this, but she's nearly four and spends 50 percent of her life climbing on things she doesn't belong on so accidents will happen!  I first became aware of said injury after Bub informed me about an interaction you two had last week.  She said,  "Momma, Kaden told me I had poop on my chin.  I told him, NO Kaden, it's an owie, and he said, uh uh, it's poop!"  She was quite put out about this until I told her to ignore you.  However, she accurately pointed out you weren't very nice about it.  I have pondered the issue and have decided that Bub is right!  Just who do you think you are Kaden?  And what kind of baby do you think I'm raising?!  Certainly not some cretin who would rub poop on her own chin!  Don't get me wrong you little creep, Bub's got plenty of flaws, but poop wiper she is not.  Sure, she's a kleptomaniac and takes whatever she wants from everyone in the house!  It's true she wanders like Helen Keller during mealtimes, but we're working on it!  Hell, I even caught her smoking while she was vacuuming last week and after snapping proof told her, "don't smoke Bub!"

That still doesn't mean she's capable of committing a crime of the caliber you're suggesting!  Listen Kaden, it's possible you've heard some rumors about Bubba's family, but I'm pretty sure disgusting, grandiose antics are not genetic so lay off pal!  Besides, I've met my fair share of little boys and I can almost guarantee you've got secrets of your own which may include skidmarks, penis fingers (a syndrome arising from not washing hands after urinating), and booger eating.   Therefore, I'm asking you to leave Bub alone and let her owie heal in peace.  In exchange for your cooperation, I'll consider allowing your pitiful little life to continue. 

Sincerely, 

Bubba's mommy.

L-O-O-N Spells Mommy...

This is my mommy:

What's she doing?  Why rewiring her bathroom light in her bathrobe of course.  The most hilarious part of this pic is not the stupid blue robe that I was probably conceived in and which the majority of my recent memories of my mom percolate around.  No, what's hilarious is that there is nothing unusual about seeing my mom doing something like this...constantly.  Ask all of my idiot siblings.  I bet they won't see anything strange in this pic including that nasty ass robe!  My mom is always tinkering with something.  Like this...

Or she's involved with just about any activity one of her kids is.  Like this...

I got to thinking I don't have any normal shots of my mom because she doesn't slow down long enough to snap one.  It might also be because she's always doing something weird, or falling asleep from exhaustion after doing something weird.  We also have a problem in my family with taking incriminating photos to be used as leverage in future conflicts.  Check this out...

I figured my other siblings were in the same predicament and of the five that responded to a quick survey, only my brother Sam (who can't seem to keep his pants on, let alone poop free) could produce a decent pic.

She's a nice looking granny when she stops for 2 seconds!  And I assured my brother he gets no extra points for having a nice pic because deep down he's a creep.  

The other completely insane quirk with my mom is her vocabulary.  She'll spend all day correcting your stupid grammar, but you need a special dictionary to understand her.  For instance:

Chicken:  grandchild

Chickens:  multiple grandchildren 

What's a matter for ya?:  what's up?

Gob ton:  large amount of something as in, "You made a gob ton of chicken."

Dutton:  slob

Dude:  penis

Peep:  vagina.  

Can I digress here and talk about how horrible it was growing up thinking the female genitalia was called a peep? How do you think I felt when the multi colored peeps at Easter came out?  Can you even imagine the stuff my siblings and I used to say about crunchy, colored, sugary peeps and the like?  My brother found this sign recently.  If anyone else in normal society saw this, no issues would have arisen.  It caused a stir in our family network:

I told my family I'd be out of business if no one touched any peeps.  My sister Jeta deleted the thread out of embarrassment!  What a legacy my mom has created!

I may joke, but I dare anyone to try and come up with a more inventive, eccentric, and talented mom than mine.  It's impossible!  Take your lousy mom who probably has never stood out in her garage and sanded something in her underwear and shove it.  Take your substandard maternal figure who I can almost guarantee has never lost her cell phone while talking on it and hit the road!   If your mommy has never butt dialed her own hubby at midnight from the basement, awakening him and sending him into a growling rage, I don't want to meet her cause she'll bore me to death!  Finally, unless your mom can multitask and find new uses for old stuff, I have no use for her!  And by use old stuff, it has to be up to this caliber:

I caught the bag in the garage just today. I asked her what in the heck she was wearing that ugly hat for.  Her response? "I'm using it to keep my hair out of my eyes."  And yes, she was dead serious!  Yep.  My mom is top notch.  Too bad you other suckers got stuck with what you did.  Life sure ain't fair!

Super Saturday

After nearly succumbing to influenza earlier in the week, I found that by Saturday I was bored and needed more spice in my life.  My brush with death put everything into perspective and I suddenly found that a waffle cone from Reeds Dairy was the only thing that would do.  Actually, the ice cream was my reward for being respectful during a lame family piano recital we held.  I tend to be a little melodramatic if you hadn't noticed.  Anyway, I clambered into our giant Chevy pickup with the hubby and Hannah while the rest of my spawn rode with my folks. I'm minding my own business on Broadway when the car in front of me changed her mind on proceeding through the intersection on a yellow light.  Given that my truck is sort of like driving a small Redwood tree, I had no prayer in stopping my forward inertia and SMACK!  I rear ended the unfortunate young lady who hesitated to commit.  To the occupants inside my giant vehicle, it felt like a bumper car, but to my would be murder victim- well she seemed a little dazed.  I hopped out of the truck and walked up to her window.  

Me:  Are you ok?

Victim:  I think so

Me:  Did I scare the shit outta you?

Victim:  (slowly staring) Yes?

Me:  Ok, I'm calling the cops now

Here let me pause and apologize for the way I am.  I have no idea how I have sunk so far in dignity and respect.  I'd like to blame my mother for my shortcomings, but anyone who meets her would know she's not to blame.  However, in my first post I made it clear I worry so very little about how I'm perceived, so this one paragraph is the only attempt this month I will make at good behavior...

A city cop arrived and did his thing.  He even apologized for burping in my face due to the awesome Mexican food he supposedly had at Puerto Vallarta for lunch.  I wanted to have a heartfelt discussion about what I thought awesome Mexican food was, but the fact that he admitted he burped cleared his poor food opinions in one fell swoop.  We waited for 15 minutes while he checked to see what other sins I had committed and the boredom just got to me.  As I stood there, I wondered if my victim would take a pic with me.  Here is a life lesson I've learned...  People will almost always do what you want if you ask nicely as long as it isn't illegal.  Furthermore, you'll never know if they will do your bidding unless you ask.  Soooooo......

Me:  Hey, can I take a picture of my crime?

Victim:  Sure?

The pic doesn't do it justice but I got the bumper pretty good.  See how Christian I am?  I blurred out her plate!

Me:  Hey, can I take a pic with you?!

Victim:  Sure?

My dad, who thinks most of the things I do are weird, asked if I was going to invite her to our next family photos.  I didn't care though because she's cute!  Poor girl was trying to decide where to eat.  I told her now she had more time to decide and she sort of giggled.  I felt a little sorry that she was so indecisive about her driving and her lunch options because I have so few moments of doubt or hesitation in anything I do.  It's probably why I'm sort of a bully.  I just wanted the wreck fiasco to be over because I knew exactly where I was going next:

No Gorilla Munch, but the Rocky Road was in fine form as usual.  The day was sunny and breezy, but lovely nonetheless.  It was perfect, and I was happy to be alive!  I rounded out my evening with my first motorcycle ride of the season.  My battery was dead so I had to ride bitch behind this guy.

I rode his 1500 cc bike around the block once and he offered to sit bitch, but I don't like sitting on so much power with a large man breathing down my neck.  Instead, I sat where good women belong and I even made dinner afterward!  Here's hoping your Saturday was as good as mine!

On Deaths Door

 I nearly died this week.  At least it felt that way.  I had influenza and I have never been ill like that in my life.  I knew something was up when I lost my hankering for Diet Dr. Pepper.

This was me while I was waiting for my chest X-ray.  By golly that was ice water in the mug and it was my second one that morning.  I felt horrible!  I was coughing so hard my lungs burned and my throat screamed.  My head was starting to pound and all my muscles ached.  Even my skin was tender!  My mouth hung open when the family practice clinic wanted to test me for flu.  I protested that it was April but the nurse assured me they had had a positive case the previous week.  

If you have never been tested for flu, let me explain how the procedure went for me.  First, I sat in a chair against the wall.  That's so if I tried to move, the nurse had extra leverage with which to pin my head into submission.  Next, the nurse nonchalantly dropped a couple tissues in my lap and slowly drew a cotton tipped applicator out of its sheath.  She tried to play it cool so I wouldn't run screaming from the room.  Then, when I looked my weakest, she rammed the applicator up my right nostril, twisting it around until she tickled my eyeball, and taking what felt like a core sample from my brain.  After careful inspection of my brain biopsy, she finished the job on my left nare.  My eyes didn't stop watering for ten minutes.  It set off a coughing fit which left me breathless and feeling like she owed me a steak dinner.  I actually had almost decided I would murder that nurse if it was negative, but felt too wiped out to finish her off, so I was relieved when it really was influenza.

I got to take several days off work.  Don't get excited because it was the WORST vacation I ever had!  I spent two solid days rolling around in my bed sweating, moaning, and coughing.  When I wasn't in bed, I was lying on the bottom of my shower, trying to figure out how to feel better.  Tooth brushing stopped, coherent  speech was reduced to whistles and clicks, and Ramen noodles became five star cuisine.  I was a mess!  The PA gave me this lovely elixir for my cough...

It helped immensely but I did have some moments of lucidity in which my brain tried to tell me my sensitive pooper needed a laxative with that codeine.  Unfortunately, the thought never made it into a click or whistle, so my hubby never mixed me up some Miralax.  By the third day, I was so plugged up, I nearly passed out trying to Valsalva my way out of my problems.  That brought on more coughing fits which left me sweaty and weak on the can.  I was inches away from pulling an Elvis!

The highlight of the week came when my sister in law announced she was pregnant in a group text to my siblings.  It  didn't even take one response before sexual innuendos, disgust over how awful kids are, and other inappropriate responses took over.  I took the liberty to threaten everyone from my death bed...

Not a single sibling offered sympathy for my plight, but instead started making comments about my appearance and level of dress.  And then, as so often happens, someone had to do something radical to make the conversation stop.  The award goes out to my brother Sam for this gem titled, "I'm in bed sick too."

I have never met a family like mine where even the most mundane information will end up causing a scene where someone is willing to take their clothes off!  I also would not trade my family for the exact reason just mentioned.

In case you were wondering, I'm four days out from the flu and although weak and still coughing somewhat, I feel almost human.  Regular tooth brushing resumed last night, so I think I might be out of the woods.  Be careful out there people.  Influenza is lurking.  Get your shots because it's the best protection we  have! Can someone please pass the Ramen?

Lock and Key

Jared and I owned our first home on 7th south and 13th west in Salt Lake City.  We were poor starving college students and it was the most economical neighborhood we could find.  I found out once we moved in it was "El Barrio," because we were among the few Caucasians around.  My next door neighbors on either side were Hispanic and spoke no English.  This ended up being great for me because I speak Spanish and am a bit of a Mexican food slut.  On the weekends we could drive around and find bounce houses up everywhere, Mariachi music blaring, and the delicious smell of Carne Asada floating on the breeze.  When I was doing my nurse midwifery training at the University of Utah, one of our Medical Assistants found out where I lived and said, "you live there?  It's full of Mexicans!"  I replied in awe, "you're Mexican!"  She indignantly stared then said, "I'm not THAT kind of Mexican!"  It was the first time I realized that it's not just white folks who can be racist.  I actually loved it there and never felt threatened in any way.  I actually miss the Mamacitas that used to feed me and don't play in nearly enough bounce houses anymore.

Because the population was so poor in our neighborhood, stores locked up strange stuff that was highly coveted and shoplifted.  I have never seen the same sort of lock up that I saw there.  Once, in one of the discount grocery stores, they had three items locked up together in the display case in front of the store.  You had to ask a checker to grab these items for you, much like cigarettes in my current neighborhood.  The items?  Condoms, pregnancy tests, and baby formula.  I laughed for hours over this one.  You don't have money so you need to shoplift some condoms because, "no glove means no love."  Unfortunately, you couldn't steal them, so now your girlfriend is late.  Too bad, you can't shoplift your pregnancy test either.  Nine months later, you can't shoplift the formula for the baby you didn't know was coming cause the pregnancy tests were locked up, so I guess you'll have to breastfeed...  Hoorah!!!  It was just so weird!  Incidentally, diapers and other baby care items weren't locked up - just formula.  However, I was sort of pleased the entire reproductive lifespan was represented!

I had totally forgotten this experience until yesterday.  We were driving home from seeing Once (please don't waste your time on this crapfest!) when we stopped at my favorite gas station in Tremonton, UT.  What do they have locked up?  Not Pringles, or chocolate bridge mix, or even Diet Dr. Pepper!  Nope, feast your eyes on this!

I have three questions:

     1.  What in the Provo (my personal swear word) are these doing in a gas station?!

     2.  Why would anyone buy these hideous monsters, let alone shoplift them?!

     3.  Where is the Provo Diet Dr. Pepper?!

My how my circumstances have changed!

Ahh Puke!

My Lily has been sick for two days.

She came out to notify me that she had squirted puke out of her nose while throwing up.  I informed her she needed more vomit practice and to get back in the bathroom until she got it right.  I actually hate sick kids.  Especially when the sick involves puke.  I just can't figure out what is so difficult about puke containment and why kids suck at it.

Lily first threw up on the way home yesterday.  In my opinion, being sick outside is perfect!  No worries about getting it in the wrong place!  Even if you act like a douche and blow your chunks in the middle of the sidewalk, your neighbors can use their power hose attachment to destroy the evidence and no one has to touch the sick!  If your sick is on my sidewalk, the hippy in me will refuse to waste water and instead will bitch about it until Mother Nature sends a storm to wash it away.  Regardless of the approach, no one really gets hurt.  Lily did not seem to understand the beauty of the outdoor yak.  She blew her wad somewhere, but she managed to get 90 percent on her coat.  How does that even happen?!  What runs through a kid's mind at that point?  Did she want me to believe her agony so insisted on bringing most of it home?  At any rate, this little gremlin got her all tucked into bed after school.

This is Emma and if Lily is a terrible puker, Emma has committed every vomit sin possible at some point in time:

     1.  Announce, "mom, I'm going to throw up."  Then, don't move and vomit all over yourself.

     

     2.  When you feel a yak coming on, put your hand in front of your face to make it look like you want to catch some, but instead strategically place your fingers in front of your maw so that the vomit sprays in a semi-circle 10 feet in front of you.  Repeat while your mom runs for towels.

     3.  If mom figures out you're going to puke and starts heading you to the toilet, hurry and empty the contents of your guts in a steady stream in front of you.  Be sure to finish before getting to the toilet.  When mom goes to clean up the puke runway, sit by the John and puke onto the floor a few times.  DO NOT, under any circumstances, get any into the throne!

     4.  Puke in your sleep.  Ensure proper coverage so that mom has to chisel you out of your puke cocoon with a crowbar the following morning.

In Emma's defense, I once committed a capital puke crime against my sister Jeta.    We were in high school and we shared a bed.  I had the surprise sick.  You know, when you wake up and just puke without warning?  Anyway, I sat up in bed and barfed all over Jeta.  It was disgusting and I felt horrible and didn't want to clean it up myself.  I woke up Jeta, started screaming about how she puked all over me and how she better get it cleaned up while I went and showered.  She said, "that's weird, I don't feel sick!"  I yelled some more and threatened to wake up the folks if she didn't get it cleaned up.  When I came back after my shower, Jeta was sitting in my yak in a sleepy daze so I had to yell some more until she got it all cleaned up.  I didn't tell her what really happened until we were in college and my mom told me I had major balls to pull that off.  I actually feel badly about what a turd I once was, but on the bright side, it makes for a great story!

Yep.  I hate vomit and I hate sick kids.  I LOVE when my hubby has to call in sick for sick kids though!  Like today.  I was on call and Lily needed to heal her rumbling inferno so Jared had to stay home.  Since I didn't have clinic, and no one called me in, I got to hang with him all day and I didn't even care about having a sick baby cause he was around.  I told him to post this pic and tell everyone he needed the sick day to cuddle with me:

He got all put out and lectured me about right and wrong and how the last thing he wanted was to get called in to see the sheriff who might think he was lying.  Blah, blah, blah!  Know what I hate more than vomit and sick kids combined?  A damn prude...

Happy Easter!

Today, as everyone knows, was Easter.  I love this time of year with the rebirth of my plants and the new seedlings I grow in my basement in preparation for my garden.  I love the promise of new life all around as everyone both human and animal seems to be working on growing new babies.  As a christian, I profoundly appreciate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ as it relates to my eternal salvation and was glad for the spiritual messages shared with me this day.  Unfortunately, it can be hard to be a christian while also enjoying the many pagan rituals that surround us on Easter.  My family usually gets together and it inevitably becomes a circus.  I was worried that perhaps Easter would be less than epic this year because my youngest brother was AWOL in California.  However, it ended up being pretty great even in his absence.  

First, only three of my sisters, my parents, and my family got together.  Despite the relatively low sibling turnout, look at all the ratty kids around the table decorating eggs.  

The din was deafening as usual and I enjoyed watching the little idiots get their pagan artistry on.  The highlight of the festivities was the egg my niece Marina created.  May I point out that she belongs to my sister Jeta who refuses to read my blog because she is worried she may discover something offensive.  When I found this egg I wanted to call her up and tell her that no matter what creepy little plans she may have for my niece, she is genetically programmed to be a jerk like the rest of us...

I would have been perfectly happy if this was the only exciting thing that happened today, but lo and behold, the Easter Bunny was riding around on a bike in tennis shoes.  He tried to drive around the corner from my parents, but my loud and intimidating voice beckoned him back to the front of the yard.  I have no idea who this guy was, but he gave treats out to the spawn running around in my mom's house.

The best part of all?  My sweet mom ran out to fill up his basket so that he could spread more pagan joy to the predominantly christian children who roam the streets of Rigby, Idaho.  

And no, my mother had no idea who this joker was either, she was just so excited to be helpful.  She loves kids and any excuse she has to brighten their miserable little lives is a bandwagon she gladly jumps on!  The final treat of the day were these lovely lighted eggs my mom found somewhere.  

They sat on the coffee table all day minding their own pagan business until I suddenly had a stroke of genius:

I know.  I really do.  Someone told me once that I am Klassy with a K while someone else asked if I could touch my elbow with my tongue.  It had to do with a compromising picture I took with my spouse on my daughter's IPod.  Thankfully, I have no shame so who cares if it surfaces someday...  Actually, I think it already got posted on Facebook.  Look it up folks.  As if this idea wasn't great enough, my sweet mom (remember the little darling filling up the Easter Bunny's basket)?  She wondered why I had missed a spot with my lighted joy.  She took the next pic...

So, in the midst of your religious worship, I hope everyone got to take a moment to enjoy the other diversions that Easter has to offer.  I know I did.  Happy Easter everyone!

I Smell Trouble

WARNING!!!  This installment includes a discussion of bodily functions.  If you have a weak constitution, perhaps you should wait a few days until my next post.  If you are an individual with manners, dignity, or respect for others, there is no way that you and I will ever see eye to eye on anything.  I suggest you delete this blog from your browsing history and pretend you never met me.  With that disclaimer, I believe we can continue. 

 

Our subject today is gas.  Natural gas in fact.  The most natural gas there is:  the fart.  I like to call it flatus.  Not because I'm a health care professional and it is the technical term, but because it is a stupid sounding word and I still can't believe it means fart.  Therefore, it always makes me laugh to say it.  If you think I'm immature and disgusting, then you should blame my father.  When it comes to the manufacture and distribution of flatus, the man has no equal.  I have never met, and doubt I ever will, an artist that can clear the room as thoroughly as my dear old man.  In my house growing up, the breaking of wind was sacred and revered and totally hilarious.  It is sort of poetic that I became a Certified Nurse Midwife because flatus is a common and rewarding part of my profession.  If you think that is strange, then you need an anatomy lesson.  Because I am lazy and would never spend time researching copyrighted pictures appropriately, I decided to choose a pic that could never get me in trouble with enfringement laws.  This lovely artwork was made by an LPN and good friend of mine that works in my office.  Poor Maren was trying to communicate with a non-English speaking patient and when pointing to her anatomy and screaming the word "anus" several times did not improve the situation, Maren doodled this gem:   

If she had not added the labels, I would have had no idea what the heck this was.  I laughed so hard I hung it above my desk.  She actually scribbled the original on a paper towel and I giggle every day when I look at it!  What I hope you can derive from this model is that the anus and vagina are close together.  Thus, when babies make their wonderful journey through the lovely cave of lady flesh that is the vagina, bowel contents both gas, solid, and liquid, often make their way out.  It is both disgusting and completely normal.  I have found my true calling, but back to the subject at hand.

 

I have a few simple rules that I follow in passing flatus:

1. Don't pass gas at the dinner table
2. Don't pass gas in church
3. Don't pass gas unless only someone you know is around - spare the general public
4. Flatus passsage is sometimes necessary if your belly hurts "better out than in"
5. Flatus passage is acceptable if when properly timed, it will disgust and/or bring down the house in peals of laughter

If you doubt the usefulness of the final tip, then you obviously did not know a CNM I used to work with.  I loved the eccentric lady and sometimes when she walked, she tooted with every step.  Although she was breaking rule 3, she never apologized.  In fact, she never even acknowledged it had happened.  It was THE most hilarious thing and I miss her dearly.  I can only hope my talents will affect others in the way hers has.  Luckily, age and vaginal deliveries have the potential of turning every woman into the golden specimen that my friend is so I will keep you posted on my progress. 

 

Over the last couple of weeks I have gotten into some trouble with my gas.  It is for this reason that I am posting today.  The first happened when I had been stuck at the hospital delivering babies for a couple of days.  I was minding my own buisness in one of the private lounges eating my dinner in solitude.  Ironically, I happened to be reading a bulletin about "Deadly Diarrhea" that was sitting around in there.  It was all about C-Diff which is no laughing matter.  If you don't believe me - Google it!  Anyway, I was following rules 3 and 4 when I heard the door to the lounge open.  This leads me into one of the pitfalls of flatus:  If you pass alone, you have no scapegoat.  I had cropdusted the entire room and was now caught brown handed.  I also want to point out an important fart suggestion:  Don't take credit unless cornered.  The reason for this logic is my own crazy mother.  That woman has zero sense of smell.  You could break wind all day in front of that lady and as long as there was no accompanying sound - she would never know.  Also, I do not know the math equation for the decay of fart gas.  You never know how quickly one will dissipate.  It is possible to  make it under the wire as long as you don't lose your cool and shout, "IT WAS ME!"  Unfortunately for the story, I have no idea if the doctor that came in was polite and didn't call me out, or if the gas had dissipated.  I made some small talk about deadly diarrhea and got the heck outta dodge.  I met one of the nurses in the outside hallway and started talking and walking back to Labor and Delivery.  I happened to have a huge mug of Diet Dr. Pepper in my hand that I had just purchased with my dinner.  I walked up to one of the doorways in the hallway and I fell.  Right through the door!  I have no explanation for why because I didn't trip nor slip.  I hadn't even put my hand up yet to push open the door.  I just fell out into the next hallway.  Down went my mug belching its brown goodness onto the floor.  Down went my body on top of the puddle.  Down went my pride on top of me!  Several people helped and cleaned up my mess and I was left with a very sore and bruised knee for about a week.  Before you dismiss this nastiness as a coincidental accident, I would like to suggest Karma was at play.  The universe did not like my cropdusting crime and so it chewed me up and spit me out.  I should let the poor doc know who likely will catch cancer from my cloud that we are even, but that would violate the advice I just gave about keeping mum.

 

I thought my flatus punishment was all over until April Fools Day when I went to watch the sealing of  my brother Jeff and his wife Ember in Salt Lake City.  

 

  Here they are and they are disgusting.  The day was actually quite pleasant.  I got to see my middle brother for the first time in several months.  When I first saw him I peed a little.  What's going on here?  You have to show up looking like a homeless bum?  You couldn't at least cut your mop?  One funny note, our hair looks almost identical right now so my husband mistook him for me during the lunch from behind.  Thanks guy.  I guess nearly 17 years of marriage have been good to me if I look like a 20 something man.  But look at that sexy neck and ear of said lover.  He is delicous people.  Seriously. 

 

We finished watching my three brothers make complete fools of themselves in front of the temple and then I realized I hadn't taped it.  This is my problem.  The circus that is my life feels so normal and happens daily that it doesn't seem noteworthy until I try to explain it to others.  Bear with me.  Hopefully this blog thing will help me get better about documentation.  We next had a delicious lunch at the Rodizio Grill and I ate roasted pineapple until my insides hurt.  It was wonderful but it couldn't last.  I had to get back to Idaho to deliver some more babies.  I delivered one at 1159 that night.  Kind of cool!  I was walking out of Trolley Square Mall and found my chance to make my mark by following flatus rules 3 and 5.  Unfortunately for me, it was not gas that passed its way out.  That's right.  I pooped my shorts.  Karma again, though I don't have a ready explanation as to why.  I waddled strategically into the nearest restroom to investigate the extent of my problem and realized I had three options:

1. Go commando under my skirt
2. Try washing my underclothes in the sink and hope no one sees me
3. Ignore the problem and go home

Given that I'm not much of a lady one wouldn't work.  Three was no bueno because even I have a few lines in the sand.  Therefore, two it was!  Here's how I felt in the bathroom...

Since it was in the afternoon on a Wednesday, no one caught me and when I walked out and told Jared what had happened, Officer Lily yelled, "YOU POOPED YOUR PANTS MOM?!  YOU'RE A GROWN WOMAN!!"  This is where I was able to give Lily some very sound life wisdom.  I leaned over and told her, "Lily even grown ups poop their pants sometimes!"  She was speechless.  Given that I feel it is best to live your life like an open book so no one can spread rumors about you, I quickly sent a text to everyone I care about so that they could share in my misfortune.  Here is one more piece of advice.  If you tell everyone, everyone knows.  Are you confused?  Then read this exchange I had with my brother Jameson (Pasty Bastard) after I berated him for his incompetance in completing an assignment I gave him:

 

 

Thus ends my informative post about flatus.  Let's review shall we?  First, fart when you need to as long as the Rules of Flatus are followed.  Second, remember that Karma is always looking to humble you.  Last, even grown ups poop their pants sometimes.  Good luck out there everyone!