Miscreants

Here are my three youngest this past Memorial Day hanging out with my maternal grandparents:

It's fitting I found this because sometimes I wish I could get away with putting them six feet under.  Their cute exteriors house the evil spirits of kleptomaniacs, arsonists, and general ruckus rousers.  I like to read my sister Briana's blog since she used to cast all sorts of aspersions over my parenting skills and the wicked nature of my girls.  She has since given birth to a monster of her own and her big fat yap has been spouting apologies ever since.

A lot of what my babies do is just run of the mill kid nonsense, but their theiving drives me nuts!  Jared and I buy 28 candy bars every pay day to portion out our sweets for two weeks.  For those of you who are math impaired, that's a candy bar a day for each of us.  I have hidden our stash in the trunk of my car in the winter, in the sleeves and pockets of Jared's suits, in my windows, in my laundry bucket, under storage items in my closet, even wrapped up in my underwear!  Doesn't matter how sneaky I think I am, those little suckers find them every time.  I have given out lots of spankings and time in the corner, but since nothing helps, I just keep trying to outsmart the little devils and then cope by yelling my head off when they find my latest stash!  I slung one bag of treats over a hanger and tucked it inside the shirt on the hanger and it kept the demons away for two whole months!  Last night they found it, ate 10 candy bars, and left me feeling extremely exasperated because I can't think of a new place to hide my booty!  

In the midst of this crisis, it came to light that my older two are dealing with a completely different evil problem of their own.  Apparently, despite their being 20 toothbrushes floating around in the bathroom as well as a cache of unopened brushes in the drawer, the little jerks keep brushing with Kayley and Hannah's!  Hannah stormed upstairs to tell me that she was going to murder my children and stash their bodies if it happened again.  This insolent behavior forced me to assert my position as the Don of "the family" and I made it clear that this mafia kingpin would beat her down should she threaten me again.  However, I really couldn't blame her.  Someone else's teeth dirt on your brush is damn nasty.  I don't even share my hubby's brush and I've shared far more intimate things than spit with that dude!  After calming down the raging beast that often says this...

I told her she just has to outwit the dirty buggers since it's the best way to maintain peace and sanity in the home.  I offered suggestions as to the best place to hide her toothbrush, all the while feeling like a hypocrite, since I can't even keep 28 candy bars safe for 14 days at a time!  I woke up feeling refreshed this morning to start the battle anew, when I noticed Kayley had done this:

Yep.  Hiding her brush in the blanket cupboard.  That calm cat certainly can teach raging Hannah and yelling me a lesson:  just do your thing quietly and keep your serenity, as well as your toothbrush, undefiled.  I'm going to consider changing my reaction in future conflicts, but in the meantime, if anyone wants three free devil spawn, you know where to find me!

Road to Recovery

After attempting to kill myself at the beginning of the week, I wasn't quite sure how the rest of my working vacay would end.  Fortunately, I finished my painting without further incident on Friday afternoon.  As such, I was able to attend IF's homecoming parade where Bub pulled in 3 tons of assorted cheap candy which we finished munching on today.  I also was able to complete my assignment to help the marching band in the concession stand that night.  Before I even made it to the stand, my 2015 dream came true when I finally grabbed the IF tiger for a selfie:

I'm sure if he could have expressed himself as he wished, he would have thanked me for my enthusiasm.  Unfortunately, his role of mascot held his tongue captive.  Notice my daughter Hannah is NOT in my selfie?  She was horrified with my behavior and stayed to the right of the camera angle.

My evening in the concession booth was hot, chaotic, and miserable as usual.  I had my Kayley, who is one of the drum majors, dig my phone outta my bra to take this shot:

Every time I help out with concessions, I say a silent prayer to God thanking him for my advanced education and my comfortable paycheck so I will never have to work food service to support my family.  I also thank him for a supportive spouse who a decade ago said, "Yes!  Become a nurse midwife!"  Instead of, "Why in the hell would you want to be a nurse midwife?!"

After an embarrassing loss at the game, which didn't matter to me since I was only there for the band, I slept like a rock and got ready this morning to go to 42nd Street at the Capital Theater in Salt Lake City.  I assumed the play would be the highlight of my week.  However, I did not know Comic Con was also in town.  As such, the show outside the theater was far more interesting than the one inside.  I spied idiots in Star Wars gear fake sparring, weirdos in hobbit ears skipping through crosswalks, and the X-Men strolling around in droves.  My sexy man got a little excited when he saw this:

They could probably outrun him, but ten bucks says he could kick all their asses in close hand to hand combat.  I also got to take a Dr Who pic for my Hannah, but don't you dare accuse me of being a fan.  That weird show sucks!

It's now 11 pm and I'm driving home to catch a baby as we speak.  Despite my best efforts, the fun never ends, but I'm grateful I'm still alive to tell the tale!

Couple of Amateurs

This is my idiot brother Jeff:

He is actually closer in age to my oldest daughter than he is to me by about eight years.  As such, he has an unnatural and unholy relationship with my two eldest.  He is more like a big brother than an uncle and they would rather spend time with him and my sister-in-law than just about anyone else - including other teens.  He is thin, wiry, very strong, and has helped me with nearly all of my home renovations over the last eight years.  Unfortunately for me, he is a grown up now with a baby on the way and a full-time firefighter gig.  Therefore, he can't drop everything for me and clamber up to dangerous and scary places to complete my many ridiculous demands anymore.  It has been five years since we painted the exterior of my VERY tall home.  Last time, Jeff helped set up and climb the 20 foot scaffold with me and helped me do most of my painting.  Since I couldn't count on him like I used to, Jared and I took a full week off of work to get the job done ourselves.  When I set up the scaffold by myself on Friday, I was feeling pretty confident that I didn't need my stupid brother.  Here I am on top of my accomplishment:

In fact, Bubba and I had some nice bonding time going to the rental place for the scaffolding and setting it up.  Check this out: 

 

She's fondling my Bingo Wings.  She and Emma both love how soft my jiggly underarms are.  It used to bother me when they would fondle me and talk about how wonderfully soft I am, but I have embraced my body image and figure at least they will have something to remember me for when they move out.  I believe this experience lulled me into a false sense of ability and security, because today the real work began and it did not go well.  I painted a few windowsills without incident and then started in on an overhang on one side of the driveway that is only about eight feet tall.  Stupid Jeff had my regular ladder so I was forced to use my long extension ladder to do the job.  As I perched on the top, it slid down the wall, onto the ground, and I fell on top of the ladder on my left side.  Because I am cheap, the one thought I had as I slid down was, "damnit, my paint is going to spill and I am going to have to buy more!"  Spill it did!  Just over a half a gallon on top of me and the driveway.  I jumped up with the intent to wash off the driveway before the paint could dry, but didn't feel so hot when I stood up, so I sat on the grass instead until Jared got back from some errands so that he could help me.  I was most worried about a spot on my elbow that Jared assured me was road rash. 

 

I hurt so bad that I did a little bit more painting up on the scaffold, but quickly decided to spend the rest of the afternoon painting stuff on the ground.  I was occupied with my job and didn't notice that my sweet lover was trying to move the scaffolding alone.  Want to know what 20 feet of scaffolding sounds like when it tips over?  It's damn loud.  Loud enough to bring out the neighbors in fact.  Especially when it falls on your van.  Here's the culprit in the middle of his mess:

 

And here's part of the damage to my van and my front yard.  The pics do not do the damage justice unfortunately...

 

By this time, I was beginning to think that perhaps the only thing that has kept me away from true disaster all these years has been the presence of my idiot brother!  It pissed me off that I am a 40 year old woman who had lightning hit twice in one day.  I was further pissed that my dumb brother has his own life now and isn't helping me do my scary jobs anymore!  By the time the scaffolding fell, I was really sore and was convinced that my elbow was more than road rash even if I couldn't see it well.  I dropped by the local Community Care and ended up with 4 staples in my wound, as well as reassurance (after some X-Rays) that I hadn't broken anything.

They wanted to give me a Tetanus shot since mine is eight years old, but the cheapo in me won out.  I convinced the Dr. that I would get a Tetanus shot at my work for free.  I'm still darn sore and am not looking forward to climbing the scaffolding tomorrow - after I put it back together again that is.  I tried to make my brother feel guilty for not helping me, but the only sympathy I got was from my old mommy who thinks she's coming over to climb the scaffolding with me tomorrow.  Oh well, I guess life can't be perfect every day.  But just in case we have another bad day, maybe I better have Jared take out some extra life insurance...  

Have I Been Under a Rock?!

I love to eat.  I especially love to try new foods from new places or cultures and have tried to teach my kids to love experimenting as well.  We have a rule when we go on vacation that we cannot eat in chain restaurants or in places that are similar to restaurants near home.  Additionally, when eating ethnic foods, I try to dine in places where I fear for my safety (the skankier the better) and where there are few if any white people inside.  My rationale is that if the proprietors don't care about the decor, they have more time to focus on delicifying my food.  As for the white folk thought?  Well, if an ethnic restaurant has to dumb down their food so masses of white people will eat it, I assume it just won't please me as it should.

I feel like this strategy has paid off particularly well when it comes to my Mexican food intake.  I've tried loads of fantastic Mexican food and do a fair job recreating it in my own kitchen.  I believed I had a pretty good handle on this genre as a whole until I heard about Chocoflan.  One of our medical assistants is from Mexico and brought some in.  I tried a bite and was astounded by how delicious it was!  Flan on top of chocolate cake?!  I asked if you made the flan first and then added it to a cake but she assured me it was baked together.  I wanted to call her a liar but considering she's from Mexico, I figured it was possible she might know a thing or two about Mexican desserts.

Given that I sort of believed Gabby but sort of believed she was making it all up, I googled "Chocoflan" when I got home from work.  It just so happens that Chocoflan is very real and very popular.  I felt betrayed by the whole Mexican nation!  Why are they wasting time offering me chicharrones and delicious posole when they could have pulled out the big guns?!  Even more strange, all the recipes said to pour your flan liquid on top of your cake batter which will sink during baking.  When you flip the cake over, the flan ends up back on top!  I thought the recipes might be lying too, but I tried it myself and I'll be damned if it didn't work!

I tried making the delicious enigma for our Boise State/BYU game day meal.  Even though stupid BYU won, I almost didn't notice because of the Chocoflan.  I kept bugging Kayley to get me more so I could sit on my butt and swear at the TV every time the Y pissed me off.  Here's a sample:

That jerk wouldn't get me more Chocoflan, but she did take a pic of me enjoying the second slice I got off my fat can for:

She also took the time to text me back several variations of the pic, the following being her favorite:

 I still don't know how I missed this perfect slice of pure genius despite eating all the Mexican cuisine I can possibly get my mouth around.  However, now that I know, I want you all to know...  I LOVE CHOCOFLAN!

Oh Yeah? Prove it!

In my opinion, when sick or injured, my girlies tend to be over dramatic whiners.  In order to train them to become strong, self sufficient, and less annoying women someday, I abide by a strict code in which I refuse to treat anything as an emergency unless one or all of the following criteria have been met:

1. Breathing is absent
2. There is a wound present that is spurting blood six feet in any direction
3. Death

Anything less than the aforementioned list and I automatically assume my kids are faking discomfort to obtain something from me.  The most common object of their desire is a day off from school in front of the TV.  Given the fact that I am trying to convince my gremlins that I am immortal, all knowing, and kick ass tough,  any instance in which they trick me and gain the upper hand over me, only pushes my goal of complete child domination further away.  

My other motivation for dragging my feet for anything less than a severe cholera outbreak, dismemberment, or plague, is that I detest waiting in the ER and paying my ER copay.  If I wait until one of my lovelies most certainly is NOT faking and may even be on death's door, I may have the option of getting them directly admitted to the hospital and avoid my copay entirely!  Thus, I feel like I've somehow won the insurance lottery, and my girls get the satisfaction of knowing that to excel at something - even at attempting to die from the Hanta Virus- you may as well go big or go home!

For instance, a few years ago we had planned a cave hike and a trip to Shoshone Falls.  Everyone in the family unit knew the agenda, but Kayley, who was 11 at the time, decided to wake up sick.  I suspected appendicitis fairly early, but this kid is a master at tugging my heartstrings, and I refused to give her the upper hand until I knew she was ill.  Off we drove to Twin Falls, and Kayley felt steadily worse.  At one point, she didn't want to get out of the car to eat some E.L. Fudge cookies with me.  At that point, I knew we had a situation on our hands and that my diagnosis of appendicitis was a surety.  We ended up at Bingham Memorial Hospital and after a lifetime of waiting and a battery of tests, the poor little bugger was relieved of her appendix at about 2 AM.  In return for my meticulous planning and my backbone of steel, I not only avoided my ER copay, but I also got to enjoy Shoshone Falls in all its glory instead of canceling for stupid appendicitis!

It's been awhile since any of my spawn  has dared to test my faker radar, but yesterday Lily gave it a go.  She and Bub were playing "The Alligator Game," which is apparently a made up game that consists of nothing except jumping on the bed at 11 PM.  Down Lil fell, blood curdling screaming for five minutes ensued, and though I suspected a broken wrist, she didn't meet the emergency criteria so I put her to bed.  My rationale was that if she hurt bad enough she couldn't sleep, I'd take her in while the Community Care was open.  Alternately, if she continued fussing about it the next morning, I could drive her to my work and have her evaluated for free.

Next morning arrived, whining began anew, and wouldn't you know it, broken it was:

She'll get her hard cast in a few days.  I pointed out to Lily that there's a song all about her troubles.  When I quizzed her about what the Dr. said about jumping on the bed, Bub piped up with, "no more monkeys jumping on the bed!"  That's right!  Don't you forget it!  And no, you can't skip school to watch TV, you're still warm and breathing!

Dream a Little Dream

I had a dream the other night that I found this old home to renovate and flip.  Problem was it was haunted and so you had to get your work done during the day while the ghost was out.  Even more annoying, the ghost destroyed any furniture you left in the house overnight.  I was just finishing my bedroom in this lovely purple hue and invited my sister Patty over to check it out.  We had to hurry because the spook was coming back for the night.  Patty began berating me for my color choice, yelling about how hideous it was, etc. etc. etc.  I told her to calm down because as soon as I got rid of that ghost and could move in some furniture, that purple would rock!  I woke up soon after and told my mom about my vision, but she indicated she thought it might not have been a dream.

I pondered this and decided mom's right.    If people think I'm loud, opinionated, or tough, I ain't got nothing on Patty.  She used to work in the jail with my lover and could bring criminals of any persuasion to tears.  She once lectured a woman about her hygiene during a strip search and punctuated her point by flinging the panties under discussion into the trash.  She also was called on a code for a nonresponsive inmate right before she moved to Boise.  The scene when she arrived was chaotic with some deputies frozen with fear, others puking in disgust, and still others performing ineffective CPR.  Patty brushed them all aside, began barking orders, and took over chest compressions until the ambulance arrived.

I'm convinced my sis could crush your windpipe and your balls before you could even blink!  I've survived a few scrapes and can hold my own with no small amount of flair, but I would never wanna meet that bitch in a dark alley.  I secretly think she may be able to best my hubby, but only if he was forced to wear stilettos and eat a bean burrito through the match.  Seriously, she's tough!

The weirdest thing about Pat?  Her exterior:

Look at her.  She's lovely.  Plus, she's into girlie stuff like makeup and dresses.  She spent thirty minutes texting me recently about how poorly I care for my own exterior and tried bullying me into wearing makeup again.  I don't get it!  How can a spirit that is nearly perfect evil and destruction be contained by such flawless skin? 

To the common idiot, Patty is frightening, but like all arch villains, she can be killed, and I happen to know her secret Kryptonite.  What is it?  Moths.  That's right.  The winged insect that hovers near your porch light at night.  Patty called them "spastic buttholes" recently and she is TERRIFIED of them.  She can barely tolerate seeing one on the opposite side of the glass, let alone when one makes it into the house with her.  She might single handedly be able to fight a gang for turf with her bare hands, but a stupid moth will bring her to her knees!

Wait a second.  Now that I think about it, what do I have to be so afraid of?  That's it Patty, I'm not going to take your abuse lying down any longer!  I'm calling you out sista!  I'm leaving that bedroom purple and I'll get rid of that spook when I'm damn good and ready!  Just let me go catch a cage of moths before you read this post and come after my testicles...

Comfortable Accomodations

It's Labor Day Weekend and it appears that all of my patients want to be in labor.  In the last 48 hours I have attended four births and have had maybe 10 hours of cumulative sleep.  My week actually began with two deliveries that I did on Monday.  I slept at the hospital that night and found myself doing the same this weekend.  Although I tend to complain when I have to sleep without my hubby, I realized that perhaps I should consider moving into Madison Memorial Hospital on a permanent basis.  This decision could certainly be justified from a convenience standpoint, but in reality, there are numerous additional reasons that this would make sense.  

First, they have a lovely little shower tucked away in the women's locker room.  This is very handy for washing dirty crevices created while providing labor support to sweating, moaning, pregnant ladies.  The shower service comes complete with scrubs that someone else purchased and will launder for me as long I leave them in the proper designated hamper.

 

This sweet shower has a handicap seat that pulls down so that if I want to turn my bathing into a sit down affair like in a fancy spa...  BINGO!  Best of all?  I don't have to clean the sucker!  Housekeeping magically cleans it when I'm not around so my shower is always fresh and delightful.  As a side note, I sent this pic to my lover but I was certainly not discussing how great the shower was.  I'll leave it up to your imagination.

 

Second, there's a decent provider lounge stocked with sandwiches, chips, sodas, and of course my favorite:  Lorna Doones.  No one charges me any money for this service I take advantage of and like the clean shower, the food magically appears and is always in abundant supply.  Although I know it must be part of the kitchen staff's rounds to stock the fridge, I like to pretend it's the work of some sort of magical hospital fairy.

Third reason I could make MMH my home?  My Diet Dr Pepper habit.  They have the brown elixir on tap and have my favorite accompaniment - nugget ice.  The refills are only 50 cents but I get the employee discount.  Here's my first of the morning along with my change.

The only drawback to this perk is that they don't have lids to fit my giant mug and they don't have a frequent filler punch card for free refills.  However, at 48 cents a pop, this is a minor inconvenience.

I guess as I'm listing justification for relocation I can't leave out this:

This is a pic of one of the private sleep rooms available to me.  And might I add that free tv, cable, computers, and wifi are part of the luxurious amenities at MMH.  This is how I left my bed this morning because guess what?  Free laundry and bed making service provided by the housekeeping fairies!  It's magical that someone takes care of this for me and I try to be really nice to the housekeeping staff because I love them so very much.

For any Negative Nells that think I might get lonely, Check it Yo:

Delicious cafeteria food with my family, and yes, that is a second Diet Dr Pepper.  Remember the employee discount?  Cheaper than McDonalds and more delicious by far.  Plus, no dishes to wash!

Yep.  I think this just might work out for everyone.  Fairies to take care of me and free room and board.  I'm going to go speak to admin after the holiday to ask for a rental agreement.  The only kink I gotta work out is scheduling non creepy conjugal visits...

Stupid Karma!

My mommy and daddy left for vacation with my brother today.  As such, Dad felt the need to text me the following message since he knew I'd be watching the Utes on his TV:

I of course could not let this pass without a pester in his direction, so I texted him that Dexter the three legged cat wanted some time outside.  For the record, Dex was sleeping at Jared's feet in front of the Utah season opener.  Within thirty seconds, Dad was on the line listing all the reasons that I shouldn't let his furry buddy out.  "He'll whine about it, but he'll get over it...blah, blah, blah."  I just pressed my advantage and eventually called him neurotic.  Then my mom got on the line and agreed that dad and his cat were weird but please eat all her peaches and cream she left in the fridge...

I hung up, pleased with the havoc I had wreaked with my dad, when my babies wanted them some peaches and cream. What do I spy while acquiescing to their demands?  Corn Chex!  I love Corn Chex and I never buy it because I just can't control myself around the delicious corny squares!  Therefore, I poured myself a scrumptious crunchy bowl and got ready to head downstairs for more football.

I should have tread more lightly because Karma was lurking after my Dexter crime.  I hadn't even taken a bite when WHAMO!!!  I landed right on my back on the stairs, skinned my elbows, and tweaked my ankle.  Worst of all?  Guess where my Corn Chex went?

Oh man I'm hurting in this pic!  I cleaned up the mess, texted my dad to apologize for my insolence towards Dex, and noticed it still smelled like Corn Chex everywhere.  Then I noticed this:

Well crap!  Most of the cereal milk ended up on me!  I decided to listen to the universe and take my lumps like a man so I didn't pour another bowl of Chexy goodness.  Stupid Dexter!  And stupid Karma too!  I was feeling pretty low when my ex-midwife partner sent me this:

It was a start toward healing my wounded pride but it didn't bring back my Corn Chex.  You better watch your back Dexter.  This ain't over!