God Bless My Friend...

I have spent the last two days of my life trying to tamp down the negative belief that my house in Idaho is never going to sell.  Sometimes, this worry becomes so strong, I almost feel genuinely panicked; convinced that Jared and the girls are going to live without me forever.  The first house we bought in Salt Lake City was a P-O-S.  We lived in it five years and made a killing on it when we sold to move to Idaho.  Our realtor at the time told us houses near the hundred grand mark always sell quickly because there usually aren't many of them and most folks can afford them.  Boy have we seen that work out in Idaho as some of our neighbors in smaller houses have sold in the blink of an eye over the last few months as we continue to wait.

In a moment of desperation, I remembered a pic I had snapped while I was stuck in traffic a few weeks ago:

I tried to believe it, but it just wouldn't take.  Everything doesn't feel ok to me.  In addition to my mental mind games, I tried distraction with a trip to Conneticut for ice cream as well as a visit to see Red Pollard who rode Seabiscuit into infamy.  He's buried in Pawtucket of all places...

Neither trip helped.  Right before I lost my head completely, I noticed this guy is on Netflix:

I forgot how much I love Bob Ross!  When I was a kid, we didn't have cable and I think my folks had a total of four channels.  Three showed soap operas during the day which mom wouldn't let us watch, and news at night, which I wouldn't let myself watch.  The last channel was PBS.  I'd rather watch Mr. Rogers, Sesame Street, and good 'ole Bob than nothing, so that station predominated.  My mom is an artist in her own right and loved Bob Ross, so if he was on, we watched him paint together.  

If you've never watched Bob, you should give it a go.  In thirty minutes, he creates a scene and tells you how easy it is the whole time he's painting.  He says all sorts of stupid, calming things, and it's great fun to hear him chatter about his "happy little trees."  Jared calls him an asswipe because it pisses him off at how quickly and well Bob paints.  I have never begrudged Bob his talent because I enjoy him so much, plus, he often shows a video of himself with some random animal.  In the "Wintertime Blues" episode, he shows you his pet squirrel "Peapod," and tells you, "if you've never lived with a squirrel, you haven't lived!"  True words of wisdom.  Check it:

Look closely, that's "Peapod" in his nasty-ass fro!  After two episodes with Bob, I started feeling a little better.  My positive feelings improved when Jared Facetimed me:

It brightened my day when Lily confused period with puberty and asked Jared if his voice changed when he got his period.  I then got to listen to him tell her he didn't have a uterus while launching into a discussion of the menstrual cycle which ended with him warning her that a period finished when the lining of the uterus came out of the vagina.  I don't know why he didn't just say a period ended with bleeding, but it still made my day to know that my old lover knows a thing or two about women and isn't afraid to share it. 

My house still hasn't sold, I don't know what to do if it doesn't, but at least my panic is at a dull roar for now.  Next time I feel it rising, I'm going to bag all my other tricks, and just let Bob Ross tell me that I can do anything I want in my world.  Maybe I can paint my house into selling...

Happy Birthday Bubba

Today my sweet little Bubba had a birthday.  Every year, I send a selfie celebrating the anniversary of Bub's birth to the two friends and the two nurse midwives that were there with me that night.  This year, I missed the birthday on account of Bub lives in Idaho and I live in Rhode Island, so my selfie ended up looking like this:

Every year someone comments on how time flies and I take a moment to contemplate Bub's entrance into this world.  Bub's birth was nice because it was the only delivery I had after I became a Certified Nurse Midwife.  I've delivered about a thousand babies in my career so far, and yet when I had Bub, I got to turn myself over to my two great partners at the time and just be the patient.  

Because I had a very nice working as well as a personal relationship with my nurse midwives, I naturally wanted my vagina to look wonderful for my birth.  And by look wonderful, I mean I wanted to do something really extravagant so they would always remember Bub's special day.  Since genital shaving is so common these days, and because I have a moral objection to it, I knew I needed something unique.  For months I pondered what sort of surprise I could give Helene and Karen, and finally decided that coloring my pubic hair neon pink would do the trick.  I consulted my hairdresser, Erica, who happens to be a natural perv; always happy to help with anything ridiculous.  Erica warned me that pubes are different and she didn't think they would take the dye correctly.  However, never one to stand in the way of a good prank, she gave me a bleaching agent, and then some neon pink dye to put in its place.

A few weeks before Labor Day, I applied the bleaching agent, then sat naked on the floor of my shower reading a book while the bleach did its work.  My older kids and Jared both noticed me there, asked what I was doing, and then wandered away, unfazed by my response.  When your mom/wife is a lunatic, nothing seems unusual I guess.  After the bleach came the neon dye, and just as Erica predicted, the short curlies wouldn't take it.  I ended up having slightly reddish pubes that were nearly undetectable from my previous carpet color.

I considered shaving or drawing something hilarious on my lady bits, but by this time, my attention span was exhausted, so I just waited for labor to start and delivered Bub like I delivered all her sisters:  rapidly, and with approximately one push.

Yep, it's nice to ponder nice memories every year.  I'm grateful for each of my babies and for the joy and anguish they bring to me.  I'm grateful for great nurse midwives that have given me some wonderful births to remember, and even for a really nice doctor who treated me well until I saw the light and switched to said midwives!  Most of all, I'm grateful that my selfies with Bub are fun and cute.  I wonder how long it will take before she starts to look more like another one of my children I birthed in June - my happy child, Hannah.  She's pissed at Kayley and me here.  She had a GREAT face on when I asked her to smile at me but I didn't screenshot it fast enough...

Happy Burthday, Bub!  You have some big shoes to fill...

Oh That Accent...

One of the absolutely best things about living on the East Coast are the accents I get to listen to every day.  I feel like I'm in a mobster movie or at least a bad commercial for an Italian meatball sub.  I have stopped giggling when someone with a thick accent talks to me, but that doesn't mean I'm enjoying it any less.  One of my patient's husbands asked me the other day where I was from because I had an accent.  I scoffed at his insolence and reminded him that HE was the one with the accent!  Two of my favorite people with accents work in the lab at my office:  Andrea and Camille.  I eavesdrop on these suckers all the time because I love the way they sound.  As a bonus, they are lunatics that really enjoy each other's company, so their conversations are filled with endless slang and teasing.  They are teaching me all the important things I need to say and do to fit in better here and I appreciate them.  Listen to this bit Andrea let me record today.  It doesn't matter what she's talking about, just listen to her beautiful accent and imagine how much I enjoy listening to everything she says...

The other great thing about the East is that they are very lovely people, but only if you don't mind initiating most of the conversations at first.  The eye contact on the street with strangers is minimal, and they certainly don't try to talk to everyone they see like we often do in the West.  However, if you put yourself out there, they will talk your ears off and will help you with anything you need to know.  There's also no such thing as a whisper out here, at least for those with Eastern accents.  I love how loud they are, I fit right in.  They are also very blunt so don't look for them to soften any kind of news.  You're gonna get it right in the face buddy!  Best of all, you can insult just about anyone you like and they will not only not be offended, but might just like you even better.  This has been fabulous for a gal like me!  Take this order that Camille gave Andrea to take to Whole Foods for lunch.  Pay attention to the flip off picture and the wording the arrows point to under (no shell)...

Andrea and I stepped up to the counter and ordered Camille's lunch first.  She just gave the lady the list, called her honey, then told her to follow the order.  As an afterthought, she told her not to be offended by Camille's picture, nor the insult at the top.  The lady laughed, made the food, then waited for Andrea's order.  Andrea said, "ok honey, I do want the shell with my taco salad."  The lady responded by making sure that Andrea really did want the shell, to which I said, "Yeah asshole, because she ain't on a diet!"  We all laughed hysterically.  Nearly every day of my life in the East has been filled with wonderful interactions like this.  I have truly found my Mecca...

Lizzie Borden Took an Axe...

My comfort in the East has increased enough that I have been able to go back to reading true crime novels in my bed at night.  I no longer fear the neighbors downstairs, no longer check under my beds and in the closet for boogey men, and I no longer sleep with face to my bedroom door in case someone sneaks in at night.  Most of my comfort comes from the landlady's husband, Joe, who seems to hang out in the yard at my apartment more than he hangs out at his own house.  Joe is a contractor and has 3 dump trucks in the yard that he is always tinkering with.  He waves at me and talks to me often, and I am convinced that if someone tried to put up a ladder to reach me on the second floor, he probably would do something about it.  Having said that, I still peek out my windows from time to time to make sure that no one has leaned a ladder against the house while Joe is gone.  It's true that my worry over a ladder crime has kept me from watching Forensic Files, but reading true crime novels is a good first step. 

For some reason, after finishing one of my novels, I started thinking about Lizzie Borden this week.  You know the rhyme don't you?

"Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother 40 whacks.  When she saw what she had done, she gave her father 41."

It wasn't really her mom, it was her stepmom, Abby and her father, Andrew.  She also didn't give them anywhere close to 40 whacks, but they certainly were bludgeoned in an awful manner.  It's quite probable that it really was Lizzie who committed the murder, but there is no physical evidence linking her to the crime and after a sensationalized trial, she was acquitted.  She lived out her days as a pariah and eventually died a loner.

I had forgotten that the crime was committed in Fall River, Massachusetts.  Do you happen to know where Fall River, Massachusetts is?  I do!  It's right over the border from Rhode Island.  Given the proximity of this famous murder that I have known about my whole life and my love of true crime, I decided a road trip was in order!

The day didn't start out very well because of this:

No Diet Dr. Pepper.  The man at the counter assured me it was temporary so I had to make due with Coke Zero.  He likes to talk about my metal straw that I use every time I come in and today I mentioned I was from Idaho.  "Why the hell would you move from Idaho to New England," he nearly yelled.  I gave all the good reasons why and then assured him he was an idiot for thinking that New England was not wonderful.  Damn Easterners.  They don't know how good they've got it over here.  I guess we always tend to take for granted what we see every day.  I certainly know how fantastic Idaho is, but I also know how beautiful the East is too.  If you don't believe me, come visit.  Lobster rolls on me...

The drive to Fall River was beautiful as usual.  I have passed by it several times on my way to check out the beaches in Rhode Island but have never actually stopped before.  The town itself is quiet and old with wicked weird, narrow, and confusing streets; just like Rhode Island.  Thank goodness I have GPS because otherwise I don't think I could have found the scene of the crime:

After the trial, Lizzie purchased a home in the more affluent area of town and named the home Maplecroft.  Like so many other old homes in New England, it's lovely:

I don't know why a spinster pariah needs such a huge place, but I guess I shouldn't judge.  Lizzie lived and died in Fall River and the lovely Oak Grove Cemetery where she's buried is close to both homes.  I love old graveyards.  Always have.  Labor and birth are the great levelers of women.  Death is the great leveler of everyone else.  It's humbling to see the mouldering gravestones, some so worn you can't even read names or dates anymore.  It sure doesn't take long before nearly everyone is forgotten in this life and I sure hope my time on this earth will matter to someone - at least for a few years after I'm gone.

The Borden family was quite influential in Fall River and it was mostly Lizzie's more distant family.  You can see those suckers everywhere in the graveyard, but the Borden plot where the possible murderess rests is so popular, the way is marked with painted arrows on the ground, which start from the front gate and lead you right to the site.  Convenient for a wanderer like me.  Here she is:

Anticlimactic almost isn't it?  Her dad, mom, stepmom, and two sisters are all here and thankfully, at least the family marker is decent:

You know what else the East knows how to do?  Mark a grave.  The cemeteries are so cool over here.  Massive monuments, small creepy monuments, old crude headstones, it's awesome.  All the other graveyards I've been to in my life pale in comparison to what I've seen in the East.  Check out how tall some of these are!  I found this one in a different Borden plot...

Jared and I talk about our headstones quite a bit.  I really want a bench so that people can sit on it and talk about how great I was.  When people no longer know how great I was, at least there's a bench to sit on so that a complete stranger might find my bench, sit on it and think, "I bet this lady and her lover were great.  This is a damn awesome bench!"  Because I'm cheap, I don't want the bench to be wasted, so when I have the money for it, we're going to have it carved and then put it in my garden so that I can enjoy it until I die.  Then once I'm six feet under, my kids can move it to my final resting place and get busy talking about how great I was.  As usual, it's a completely reasonable plan and it makes me happy thinking about it.

I finished my day wandering on a beach near Fall River.  The ocean is just lovely over here.  The thing that amazes me is that it smells just like the beaches on the West Coast.  Wonderful, salty, vegetative odor.  I just love it.  Please people!  Can't someone just come visit me?  I'll take you to visit my friend Lizbeth Andrew Borden...

Go West Young Man...

I just arrived back in Rhode Island after an extended weekend visit with my family in Idaho.  The main purpose of the trip was to visit with Jared and his demons and to also watch Newsies in Salt Lake City with Lily - one of the final shows of our season ticket packet of 2016.  Since my family can't help but butt into everyone's business, they scheduled family pictures that weekend as well.  In hindsight, I can sort of understand the planning, given that I now live so far away and two of the grandchildren will be graduating next year.  However, I wasn't very gracious when they told me I had to show up at 6:45 AM Saturday morning to take said pictures.  In an attempt to anger the siblings being the most annoying about the pictures (Camilla and Chris) I showed up wearing my finest apparel...

I was really hoping to get more of a reaction but they all humored me.  I even wore a sexually explicit shirt two of my friends made me under the suit, just in case the bear wasn't enough...

Unfortunately, my crazy family barely even blinked.  Jared, as usual, was my rock, and thought I looked sexy both in my shirt, and masquerading as a bear.  This is him trying to take advantage of me on a bridge in the park after the picture taking had ended...

I may or may not have been responsible for staging this assault.  I left the bear suit in Idaho for Alyssa after Jared finished molesting me and am kind of feeling sad that it is gone.

Family pictures and Newsies comprised only part of my weekend.  The biggest part was monopolized by this guy:

This is my brother, Sam.  He's been growing his hair out for some time now and he's been mistaken for Jesus by so many little kids in his church group, that I don't think he's ever going to cut it again; just for the novelty of it.  His hair is the least of his problems since he's known far and wide for multiple acts of idiocy.  These include, but are not limited to:  eating food left in his car over a hot weekend and nearly dying from food poisoning, eating food out of the garbage, constantly pooping his pants, making a wax mold of his erection, showing off his naked body to anyone who will look, etc. etc. etc.  This weekend Sam found some old underwear my dad used to bike ride in.  Any normal person would have just ridiculed my dad for saving underpants for 30+ years, but Sam put his own personal spin on things:

There are no words to describe the trauma I endured by watching him flip his business about if you catch my drift.  No sooner had he shed the underpants, then he shared his talent of making a penis out of a hot dog:

Let's just say none of us in the room could breathe after his show.  Lest you find Sam's God given talents less than impressive, I dare you to sit through one of his many performances without laughing yourself nearly to death.


I'm missing my family and my friends, but I was actually quite happy to land back in Boston.  I am really starting to get a handle for this area and it is beginning to feel more and more like home.  Plus, the people I work with are keeping a close eye on me and helping me figure everything out.  I even had a list of the beaches of Rhode Island waiting for me in my box when I got back to help with my sightseeing.  Best of all, the budget for this next year just got voted on and a season pass to visit any state beach is now only 30 bucks!  See ya Idaho!  I got crevices in need of some sand...  

Thanks Pubic Hair...

This post is dedicated to my niece, Kate, the title being something she actually texted to me, her sweet aunt, after I called her a buttmunch for her birthday.  Katie is a few months younger than my eldest baby and also happens to share a birthday with my fourth daughter, Lily.  Obviously I have to love Kate since she's related to me, but I found that I really began to appreciate her as an individual, and began to love her despite our bloodlines, starting about when she was in junior high.  Why the admiration?  Check it...

This kid is so eccentric it's thrilling.  I secretly wonder how my sister has transformed her spawn into something so magical, but I get the impression she had nothing to do with it;  they are naturally weird.  Kate and I have had all sorts of interesting conversations over the years.  She has sung me funny camp songs over the phone, has told me stories about her underwear that have kept me in stitches for weeks, and her natural tendency towards tomboyishness is something I can support whole heartedly. 

The other great thing about Katie is that she cares about people.  She knew I was feeling really sad this week so she sent me lots of thoughtful texts that said, "I love you" and other similar crap.  She also called me Rachie, which melted my heart because I don't think she really thinks of me as her aunt, but more like an equal, and I love that.  Kate also likes to send me pictures.  Like this one of a guy she caught sleeping in church:

I told her she was going to burn in hell for taking pictures in church, but after thinking about it awhile, she upped it to a whole new level by sending me this a few days later:

Now she calls him "Flash" and I know exactly what she is talking about and it makes me smile whenever she mentions him.  Kate is also planning on visiting me in Rhode Island whenever I can get my family moved out.  We talk about it a lot and I think both of us are pretty excited to spend some time on the beach.  I'm sure Kate will admire my sexy beach body and think about how lame her own mother looks in a swimsuit, and I will worry about her white flesh blistering under the hot sun because man is Kate a white girl!  Speaking of beaches, Katie lives in northern Idaho near some really beautiful lakes and rivers.  They go to the beach on the lake quite frequently up there so she sent me this tonight:

I assured her that water and sand bring out freaks no matter where you are, so I'm hoping she'll still want to come hang out with me in Rhode Island despite the killer view she obviously has on her lake.  It's really amazing how great teenagers are.  I complain about mine all the time, but in reality, it's a wonderful age.  You have these babies on the cusp of being grown ups, trying to figure out their bodies, the world, their opinions about major social issues, and it's absolutely fantastic watching them get their feet underneath them as they prepare to march out into their future.  It's humbling and truly lovely.  What will Kate end up accomplishing?  I have no idea.  But I suspect given her oddity it will be something really marvelous.  I love you filthy animal...