Gurl, You Need Some Boundaries...

A few days ago my ex midwife partner sent me this:



I laughed my head off because this is how I feel about myself.  I ask folks all the time to pray for me since I secretly think the Big Guy might not be listening to my pleas because of my cursing habit.  The problem is, I like doing it.  I've had several periods of time in my life when I've read a scripture, felt sorely chastised, and stopped swearing.  I've stayed clean for six months before but I lose all joy and meaning in my existence and fall off the wagon and start a cussin' again.  The problem is my upbringing.  Look at this joker:

That's my cute grandpa.  He died about two years ago and that stupid bathtub happens to be in one of my bedrooms.  My kids sleep and play in it and I think about him every time I see it.  Anyhoo, this dude could swear.  He was a sailor, but didn't really curse like one.  He was classy about it.  No F-bombs, no taking the Lord's name in vain.  Just good old fashioned words like damn timed at just the right moment for effect.  My daughter tried convincing me today that damn is an old man swear word.  I said, "Hey, that's one of my favorites!"  She rolled her eyes condescendingly and said, "exactly."  The "old man" smiling in the bathtub happened to issue three sons from his loins.  One of which, was my daddy.  Look at him:

 

He's a specimen.  Notice his three legged cat Dexter behind him?  I'll blog about that idiot soon but my daddy is even better at cursing than ole Warren G.  (his daddy).  I've learned a lot about life from my dad.  I love him dearly and respect him more than almost anyone except the fat dude I'm married to.  One of the most important lessons he ever taught me was about swearing.  I told him once I was thinking about laying off cursing.  He told me, "shit, damn, hell, and bastard are not swear words.  they are nouns."  I have held that wisdom close to my heart ever since. 

 

I might not be so worried about my swearing problem except I have no couth or boundaries in any other area of my life either.  I know this is not a surprise to anyone who knows me.  However, what might surprise most folks is that I sometimes practice introspection and wonder what will become of me when this life ends if I don't get it together soon.  My excuse lately when anyone gives me guff about my actions is to say, "I want people to have something to say at my funeral."  In reality, I am thinking, "I am on the fast bus straight to H-E-L-L."  Today, Kayley told me that one of her friends said, "your mom is hilarious... but frightening."  I asked Kayley if she had stuck up for me, but that was a big negative.  "I'm not scared of you mom but you know how you are..."I wanted to argue with her, but two seconds earlier I had been looking for Hannah so that we could go to Sonic for Happy Hour.  (Lay off okay, I LOVE diet strawberry limeades and I LOVE them most when they are only a dollar).  Kayley suggested I text Kaymbrie, Hannah's friend, and see if she knew where to find my kid.  Kaymbrie suggested I text Patrick.  SIDE NOTE:  Hannah has a major crush on Patrick and holds his hand a lot apparently.  I have tried to tell her that sex starts with hand holding and she tells me to knock it off and get a life.  STORY RESUMPTION:  Do I say to Kaymbrie, "thanks?"  Do I say, "Have a good day?"  Do I even ask how she is?  No!  This is what I said:

At that point Kaymbrie thought she was talking to Hannah.  I put that puppy to bed with this:

 

Her response?  "Goodness!"  What kind of kid says goodness?  She's practically screaming that I'm a dirtbag!  I felt terrible about my sins and said a few curses to make myself feel better but it didn't help. A little later I peeked on my ladies and saw Her Majesty as well as lovely capped brood and larvae.  

God certainly doesn't hate me and isn't holding a grudge if I got to lay eyes on my queen!  Shortly after that beautiful miracle we went to Reed's Dairy and they had Gorilla Munch!

It was a second delicious affirmation that I am still worthwhile if God loves me enough to bless me with my favorite flavor of ice cream!  Bottom line?  I learned nothing today.  If God wanted me to stop cursing or act more appropriately, he'd stop blessing me so much and punish me more severely.  Therefore, after exactly three hours of being clean, I'm off the damn wagon again.  Anyone want to ride shotgun on my fast bus to hell?

 

Milestones

Today Bubba got to stop using her car seat.  In some ways this made me a little sad as I mourned the unalterable progress of time.  I no longer have a baby in my house; I just have horrible girls in varying ages.  Given that I am not a sensitive woman and I have very little time for nostalgia, I immediately began to ponder how this new milestone would benefit me.  Namely, that I now have one more female spawn who can fight over the middle seat of my van.  I dropped off the car seat and insisted the employee at the DI help me document the occasion:

He looks happy but seemed very confused when I told him I needed a pic of his service on my behalf.  Check out those sweet goggles though!  I can't even imagine what he's doing in the back of the thrift store if he needs that kind of eye protection.  I help in surgeries and I don't even use something that legit!

After the drop off I took the kids to Sonic for Happy Hour to celebrate.  They didn't know I was celebrating and neither did I until I remembered how great half price drinks are when you have five kids!  Look how thrilled Bub was to be in a big girl booster:

It took her exactly ten minutes after we got rid of her baby ride before she was yelling like a boss to keep her spot in the middle.  What a blessing!  I wanted to tell her not to be in a hurry to grow up.  There's some nice milestones in this life and some no one should be in a hurry to reach.  Like menarche.  That's a fancy word for your first period.  Or how about this disgusting problem...

That's right.  I'm anti genital grooming, but think every woman should keep their face as hairless as possible.  We need something special to keep us visually different from men.  Please don't use the excuse that women have boobs cause I've seen some flesh mounds on a few men that put my pitiful mammaries to shame.  My younger children watched me waxing a few weeks ago and after listening to me yell, "ouch!"  asked why I did it if it hurt so bad.  I told them their dad was really shallow and would divorce me if I didn't keep my beard under control.  They saw right through that and assured me Jared loved me no matter what and didn't care about my moustache.  I then told them "I care so I wax."  This is only half true.  I secretly worry that if I didn't wax my fuzzy upper lip that it would act like the loop part of a Velcro strap and his wiry man hair would be the stiff side.  You do the math people, we'd be stuck forever.  I can't let my children know anything scares me and I'm in the process of convincing them I cannot be killed.  I'm hoping they will stop pushing my buttons so much if they think I'm invincible and immortal.  It's a work in process so I'll have to let you know.

I have tried to be gracious about Bub's milestone because I reached one of my own and can only expect respect if I give it in return.  My milestone?  The high school wifi blocked my blog because it detected the word "vagina."

My work here is done people...

My Urethra is My Vagina is My Anus

WARNING.  This installment includes potentially offensive words including sex, clitoris, and vagina.  Please remember I have no filter and read with caution!

I love being a Certified Nurse Midwife.  I enjoy providing labor support and delivering babies.  I enjoy diagnosing illness, draining nasty pustules, and digging impacted wax out of ears.  I love putting stitches in gaping vaginas.  I just love the variety I get with my job.  Perhaps the most rewarding thing about my career choice is listening to the things women say to me.  I get to hear about their sex lives, the perverted things they enjoy (which are few and far between because I practice in Rexburg), and even wonderful, uplifting things about their hobbies, kids, and husbands.  Women without an epidural are most verbally interesting in labor as they sweat, moan, and cry their babies into existence.  Although the women with epidurals are much quieter, they sometimes say offensive words as crowning begins and this always makes me happy.  The verbal assault I enjoy during clinic hours is usually not accompanied by profanity as often as it is in labor, but it can definitely be very graphic.  Women in Rexburg have lots of names for their genitals and I have heard plenty of slang.  I will only repeat the non-offensive ones here because I don't want my mom to know that I know them and USE them:

• Biz-Iz-Nay
• Lady Parts
• Hoo-Ha
• Cootchie
• Female names such as Tammy
• Cooter
• Va Jay Jay
• Taco

If you are a fellow pervert and I missed your favorite slang, know that I am aware there are plenty of others I could have chosen.  I actually don't mind slang given the fact that my mommy couldn't say the word penis until she was in her 50's out of embarrassment.  I do, however, mind when women don't understand their anatomy.  It has become a personal mission of mine to ensure that ladies take control of their bodies and understand how they work!  I am not beneath using hand signals and cartoon animation to get my point across about how sex acts are performed and why they feel so good.  In fact, I used the following signal in one of my premarital exams when a woman actually told me she did not know how to have intercourse EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS ABOUT TO BE MARRIED!  I  hope the face is a good representation of how I felt when she told me this: 

When she didn't know what an erection was, I actually tried to mimic one by starting with my finger low and then raising up like so - again notice the face:

I even tried to talk about sexual positions with her, specifically woman on top, and when she stared at me with a blank face I tried this:

Of course the entire conversation was only uncomfortable for her because I have no shame and in fact LIKE to see people squirm.  Besides, even though it might feel creepy to talk about human sexuality, if you don't know how your body is designed, or how sex works, you are never going to enjoy it.  Hello ladies!  Sex can be fantastic with a caring partner and we should not be expected to take anything less as women!  I'm sorry for that feminist rant but it's true. 

If you think I get worked up about lack of knowledge regarding sexuality, you should see how fired up I get when women don't know they have three genital orifices.  This has been happening less and less as my career progresses, but seriously ladies, you need to know you have three holes!  You pee out of a hole called a urethra.  Below that is your vagina or your "baby hole" as my daughter Kayley likes to call it.  One day maybe I'll blog about a picture she drew me once about her baby hole but I digress....  Beneath your baby hole is your anus or your pooper.  Many also call this area the butthole, but I can never say it without giggling like a school girl, so I hardly ever use that term.  The three holes are not interchangeable, and they only serve the primary function they were designed for.  For example, if you poop out of your baby hole then you likely have a big problem called a fistula.  If your baby came out of your urethra you'd be in a shitload of trouble and terrible pain!  One of my backups, Dr. Meredith, once saw a baby's fist come out of the anus during a birth, but let's just say that was abnormal and that poor momma got a vagina full of stitches!  

For the first time ever, I had a cross over of bad sexuality information and worse orifice information.  I was talking about libido with a patient I care very much for.  I like to talk to her because she is interesting and I never know what she is going to say next... Much like me!  Anyhoo, she has been married for many years and admitted that she had just recently had her first orgasm.  She said, "When it happened, I finally realized what everyone is always talking about."  Then she drove the nail in my coffin.  "I always thought my happy spot was the same place I peed out of."  See girls?  Think of all those wasted orgasm years simply because she had no idea that her clitoris resided in its own designated spot!  I of course also wondered what her husband has been up to all these years.  Maybe HE needs my anatomy lesson too!

Bottom line sisters, if you didn't know you had three holes, what the word clitoris and/or intercouse mean, or if you didn't know that sex can feel, well, orgasmic, the time has come to explore this truth for yourself and figure out your anatomy once and for all!  Feel free to thank me for my wisdom any time...

It's the Bathroom Police!

News Flash:  Everyone poops!  There's a really creepy Japanese children's book all about it that I am too cheap to buy, but like to read whenever I can find a copy.  Strangely enough, its titled:  Everybody poops!  Something happened at my place of business recently because someone forgot this important fact.  They actually sent out an email company wide chastising us for our pooping habits.  They couldn't say "poop" for some strange reason so the code word became, "unsavory outcome."  Apparently, a patient had complained about the bathrooms stinking.  Therefore, all of us were called on the carpet and instructed to use only certain bathrooms designated for dropping a nuclear load.  I obviously was confused given a second fact that I am very acquainted with:  POOP STINKS!  I guess my main beef is that if you are a patient, customer, etc. and you walk into a bathroom and catch a whiff of a Stanley Steamer that has been deployed recently, do you honestly wonder why someone is pooping in there?  Would your natural instinct be to run to the customer service department, demanding to speak to the manager in charge, and bawling him out for the smell of human excrement hanging around the only room designed to handle said waste?!  I honestly believe that most intelligent human beings would either spray some air freshener, and/or try to find someone to humiliate for the lingering stench, and would let it go.

A few months after that unbelievable email, I noticed this in one of the back hallways:

Seriously?!  What good is a bathroom if you can't use it for its intended purpose?!  I tried fussing about it to admin but they mentioned a specific group of folks this sign was intended to dissuade.  Let me get this straight.  Your crap doesn't stink as bad as someone else's crap so you can discriminate against the stink and make them use different facilities?  Then when they use those facilities, everyone will know they are about to drop a duece and can ridicule them more easily?  I've heard about segregation, but pooping discrimination?  This is completely new to me!

The real problem is how self conscious everyone has become about their bodily functions at work.  I can't keep track of which bathroom to use and I'm getting a complex.  I caught one of my coworkers coming out of the labeled bathroom and wanted to take a pic and she freaked!  She didn't want anyone to know she'd been in there!  Obviously, I'm not the only one feeling weird about it and it's got to stop!  Even though I secretly worry that the toilets are rigged with sirens should anyone attempt splash down, I still find number 2 knocking sometimes.  I have a favorite toilet that has never let me down and when I spray Lysol in a 2 minute burst while the toilet flushes, I feel like a poop spy that no one will catch.  This exact scenario played out at 2 pm today until I realized that my pooping habits were the least of my employer's concerns.  Notice anything different?

No?  Well suckers, I'm commando!  That's right!  I was up nearly all night trying to deliver a baby that wanted to come into this world forehead first.  I took a shower before clinic and was sure I had extra undies in my bag.  Unfortunately, I had a beekeeping magazine, my wallet, clean clothes, and a mug I picked up for my sister.  No skivvies!  I stood naked in the shower for five minutes debating which was worse:  recycling my drawers or commando.  I hate going commando for 2 main reasons.  First, I'm worried if I bend over and my pants rip, everyone will see my brown eye and know my shame.  Second, I'm worried about people seeing my pubes through my scrub pants.  If you are part of the 99 percent of folks shaving their biz-iz-nay these days, yes, I have pubes!  I'm 40, I'm a midwife, and I'm a hippy so I have NO reason to bare it!  Unfortunately, I have this stereotype that commando idiots are rednecks with 2 teeth in their head who if they are wearing anything besides their cutoff jean shorts, it would be a greasy wife beater.  Therefore, you can see why my lack of preparation felt so awful!  However, recycling is something my 9 year old would do every day if she could, so I set the example and went commando instead.  The way I figure it, a poop bomb is nothing compared to having so little between yourself and the paying customer.  If only admin would realize how close to disaster having me running around nearly naked can be!  It's time to stop the insanity!  This is my call for unhindered, unashamed, and unabashed pooping for all!  It stinks people!  It's disgusting folks! But it's natural and we were designed to do it!  We even have a special pucker we carry around at all times to help us do it!  If you don't want to deal with poop, deal with the thought that you have no idea how many people you come in contact with that might not have anything on under their pants!  That thought warms my soul.  Which reminds me, I better go pack some extra panties...

Mr. Sexy

Exactly 17 years ago on May 7th - on a Thursday morning in fact, I was married.  Look at us.  We're babies!



Of all the memories that we discuss as our anniversary approaches each year, Jared always remembers to remind me of the Pee Challenge.  What in the world is the Pee Challenge?  Well, I was staying in a hotel room with my five sisters the night before my wedding and my second sis Cam came up with this idea that you CANNOT pee the bed if you are trying to.  "It's impossible!" She yelled.  "Give it a try!  Piss the bed!  Your mind won't let you do it!"  The 6 of us debated this issue for hours.  Jeta began throwing out scenarios such as who would clean it up if she tried it.  The rest of us tried to think if there was ever a time in our lives that we had wanted to pee the bed and had accomplished it.  Of course the usual smattering of nonsense was discussed as well, but at the end of the evening, we all fell asleep dry and content.  Incidentally, Cam tried this same discussion on her new spouse several months later.  She berated him with the same content for hours.  At the end, she told him rather smugly, "See, told you that you couldn't do it!"  She rolled over and he promptly peed on her back to prove it could be done.

Although the Pee Challenge might have been an omen to some, I have been nothing but blessed for the last 17 years of my life.  Truly.  I couldn't have found a better partner if I had been trying!  According to Jared, I married him for his waistline because, "all women love a gut.  If they think they don't love a gut, they are lying to themselves."  At the time, I thought I was falling in love with him for several totally unrelated reasons.  However, we're still together, he still has the gut, so he probably is right.  This guy is the ying to my yang.  He's the nasty grape jelly to the peanut butter in my jar of Goobers.  He's my perfect foil, but he is not perfect.  Let me outline his three worst qualities:

1. He loves the afro hairdo - No Polynesian or African American is safe from his covetous gaze.
2. He adores Hawaiian shirts
3. Hulk Hogan is his hero 

These three crimes against humanity have gotten him in plenty of hot water with me.  Like when he grew his hair out to try and create a luscious blond Afro.  Despite my negativity, he spent several years growing out his hair for a perm and looking like a washed up porn star.  When the perm flopped, he let me cut a mullet which almost made up for his idiocy.  Here it is sans porn star stache:
 

Holy crap!  This is guy is delicious!  Sorry ladies (and some men) he's all mine! 

As for Hulk, I've had to put up with stupid Hogan dolls tied to my bumper, floating in my fish tank, and snuggling between us on cold nights in case the "Hulkster" felt lonely.  Pathetic!  And the shirt thing?  Come on!  in my opinion, no one looks good in a Hawaiian shirt.  Put a giant pasty white Scandinavian in one, and you're asking for trouble.  It screams, "tourist" and, "I'll be sunburned like a lobster in 10 minutes" and "please steal all the money out of my fanny pack cause I'm a dork."  Good luck trying to talk any sense into Jared though.  He's a ticking time bomb.

Don't get me wrong, there's been more joy than pain.  Look how much we like each other:

 

See that face?  It doesn't matter where we are, (San Francisco in this case) he always has that face.  Sometimes he has it when he's alone:

He definitely has it in every family photo we've ever taken:

 

 

Even when the photographer, Brianne Serrano (Look her up she's great) tried to take some funnies look what he did:

 

 

When he finally cooperated, all we got was an open mouth! And please don't judge my elbow pooch - I have primo Bingo Arms! 

 

 

The dude only has two emotions:  awake and asleep!  I think that's why our marriage is so great!  I have more emotion and opinion than anyone should, and he simply doesn't care.  Oh, and he does laundry.  I have to stay married for the laundry.  Seriously though, this guy is a machine.  Nothing gets to him.  A wedding, me pooping out five rotten jerk babies for him, even my cooking can't stir a single spark in his iron breast. The stupid deer rifle I bought him elicited a smile and 30 minutes of jabbering a few Christmases ago though.  Thanks guy, you're a peach!

He may have criminal flaws, but he's a great dad, he loves me just the way I am, and his pillow talk still gets me.  Thanks for 17 years Brody.  I love you.  Oh, and please don't bring the Hulk with you to your anniversary booty call tonight...

 

 

 

Buzzzzz

I am an apiculturist.  For any uncultured swine that do not know what that word means, let me dumb this down for you:  I keep bees.  I am absolutely fascinated by them in every way.  I love them and call them my ladies.  Anyone who knows anything about honey bees of course would know that calling all of them ladies is preposterous.  There are of course the drones which are male.  Those fat deadbeats don't do anything but wait around to have sex with any virgin queens flying around and since this irritates my inner feminist, I often ignore their existence.  I tried calling them my pets for awhile, but Jared pretty much made me feel like a ludicrous weirdo, so now I just stick with calling them my ladies. 

I believe that beekeeping should be required of all midwives.  It's not that many of my kind don't already do plenty of crunchy things, it's just that beekeeping to me is the epitome of granola.  There are all sorts of beekeepers out there with all sorts of opinions about how to manage bees.  However, I try to consider what the stinkiest, hairiest, Mary Jane smoking nut job would think, and try to make my conduct with the bees seem in harmony with that.  For instance, I don't use any medications in my hive.  I gave up all pesticides in my yard and don't like using herbicides either.  I should post a pic of the dandelion garden in my backyard which developed due to my opinions, but I'm too embarrassed about it - even if dandelions are WONDERFUL food for bees.  I know that the hippy I just described wouldn't give a Bob Dylan poop about what other people think - but I am a granola muncher in progress...  I have been using natural methods to control some of the pests that plague bees these days but I believe my hippy ways may have contributed to a calamity this winter - I lost my entire colony.  They up and died right in the winter cluster.  I felt betrayed and sad about the disgusting mass murder.  My dad keeps bees too and when I saw his lovely ladies flying this spring, I wanted to kick over his hives so he could feel my pain.  Unfortunately, it gave me joy to see someone with the delightful insects flying around so I didn't.  And that is the ONLY reason I didn't because I have balls of steel and thousands of angry, stinging bees upset about their kicked in home would totally not scare me.

Given that I am really into this apiculture thing and need it for my eccentric image, I naturally ordered a new colony.  They arrived Thursday and I was thrilled to drive them around in my car from the pickup location.  I listened intently to their buzzing and wondered if they were enjoying the roomy ride I was taking them on.  Surely being crammed in with a bunch of other ladies couldn't be nearly as great as the trip in my Honda.  Besides, I was singing my guts out to some classic rock and I'm pretty sure they appreciated that.  Here they are waiting to go into the hive.

 

Awww, look at them.  Yes, I'm pretending to kiss them.  I would never do it for real because I am not a dumbass.  You know those idiots that walk around wearing bee beards and bees all over their bodies?  They are idiots and I don't care who knows it.  I am a totally legit beekeeper, but I totally legitimately don't like being stung!  Call me all the names you like, but God created some wise apple who created bee equipment for a reason.  Anyone who doesn't use it, deserves to die a painful death from anaphylaxis!  I had quite an audience this year during hiving since several neighbors were curious about the process.  Here's the last of the ladies hanging out in the cage after being hived - it was empty several hours later since these chicks are smart and know how to find their way into their new home... 

 

And here's me.  Happy to finally have some buzzing activity behind my garage again!

 

 

I don't know why I'm hanging onto my hive tool like a complete moron, but imagine it's me enjoying an ice cream cone or something great!  The day couldn't have gotten much better because then I went over and helped a neighbor get her first colony settled.

 

 

Yep, apiculture is pretty great.  I'm already feeling like a Class A granola muncher now that the gals are flying again!