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!