Til Macho Man Do Us Part

Lately, I’ve become a nagging, critical shrew.  As usual, the man who married this shrew just lets my nonsense slide off his back, thus highlighting even more acutely what a petty jerk I've become.  I’ve given him lots of opportunity to complain about me, but he just won’t do it.  Therefore, by being nice, he just gives me one more thing to rag about.  What are my top three annoyances lately?  Here’s a concise bulleted list for you to enjoy:

• He’s starting to go bald
• He still hasn’t planned our yearly camping trip
• He’s complete trailer trash

Because I cringe at the shallowness of my gripes against a man I’ve loved for over 20 years, let’s just discuss item three so that I can win you back to my side.  Seriously, this crime alone is divorceable, and I’m a saint for putting up with it.  Before you get all excited about me using the term “trailer trash,” take a deep breath, because he really did live in a trailer when he was younger.  An actual double wide that my mother in law had turned into a right comfortable place to live in.  She’s actually quite a classy lady in my opinion, so I’m sort of hoping she doesn’t read my blog as I sit here roasting her son... and I guess her...  Sorry Inger.

What exactly makes Jared trash?  Let me give another concise bulleted list for your convenience, which is by no means conclusive:

• He would wear Hawaiian shirts 24/7 if I would let him
• His favorite meal is a vomitous concoction called “bacon, eggs, and corn”
• Monster truck races nearly make him giggle with glee (notice I said nearly) 
• He loves professional wrestling EVEN THOUGH HE KNOWS IT’S FAKE

I could continue with his trashy crimes, but I really just wanted to talk about his lame love of professional wrestling.  Why didn’t I just start the blog there?  Well, because I sort of wanted the post to be a little longer... and I also wanted everyone to know my husband is going bald...  I digress...   My most current example of Jared’s ridiculous wrestling problem centers around the following picture Kayley sent me of a treasure she found in Salt Lake City:

Despite the nose being rubbed off, he had the look of a professional wrestler to me, so I made the mistake of asking Jared about it.  Here’s the exchange it provoked with Kayley...

One might accuse me of being complicit in the above scenario, seeing as how I recognized the doll as a wrestler, and then baited Jared into telling me about it.  However, if I had never fallen for that trashy tub of guts, I’d still be in ignorance about the inner workings of professional wrestling, and would still have the luxury of looking down on those who enjoy that lame sport with disdain.  How can I continue to deride the nasty demographic of professional wrestling fans when I went and married a member of it?!  Again.  His fault.

Up until Monday of this week, I had nearly made up my mind to file for divorce - the trash factor had finally become too much and I was ready to move on with my life.  Ready that is, until the trash pile managed to pull off this feat:

Yep.  My prolonged move to Rhode Island effectively put a kibosh on my riding for the last three years, and the old gal needed some maintenance to get started this season.  I'm so excited to start riding again, I can barely stand it.  My lover even fixed my horn which has been broken since I first purchased my bike.  Take a listen:

I know.  It sort of sounds like a clown horn, but at least it's working!  Yep.  I've been taking the trash...  I mean, my lover, for granted lately.  Who cares if he's on his way to a shiny dome up top?...  What does it matter that he still hasn't booked a campsite even though I've been nagging about wanting to go hang out in the Berkshires for months?...  Who...  Wait.  What's this?  What shirt did you have the audacity to wear in public again today?

That's it.  Divorce back on!  And remember...  You're taking all the kids...

Treasure Trove

As per my usual, I have several renovation projects going on at once inside my home.  I can't seem to focus my attention on just one because I get bored from the pure tedium that's often required to finish a task quickly.  Additionally, I think I have ADHD because if I sit still too long, I ruminate on what I should do next, then hurry up and get started on what I just spent 10 minutes thinking about.  Then because of the ADHD, I find that I am bored from the pure tedium that's often required to finish a task quickly....  Get it?  What's been on my agenda for the last month?  Building a food storage room.  We started out just ripping up tile:

But before I could finish that, Jared and I found 2 holes that had not been repaired properly, which then required us to rip out a closet before I had planned to:

I would like to mention for the record that I usually sit around and let Jared and my dumb brother Jeff do most of the demolition work because I have a weird hatred of dust and rocks in my hair.  I also worry about scratching up my hands or arms which I happen to detest as well.  However, since my jerk brother Jeff is 2,500 miles away, I actually had to get busy and help a little more with the grunt work this time.  Know what hasn't changed?  The exasperated look my lover has whenever I convince him to help me with another ridiculous project:

Thankfully for Jared, the previous owner of our house was an unfastidious wiener, and thus stuffed quite an assortment of junk into the closet that I thought only held a water main pipe and some screens.  What did I find?

• Shower head
• A long pipe with a bend in it that I straddled to make it look like I had a penis
• Knee Brace
• Military cap of some type
• Rebar spikes
• Decorative shelving 
• Mandolin (food kind - not musical kind - one of my midwife partners thought I had a real find)
• Pipe with tobacco still in it

Since I continue to be amazed and irritated with Maria (the previous owner in case you've forgotten), I of course began to complain to anyone that would listen about what an uncleanly idiot she was.  It started innocently enough with pics like this:

But quickly began to go downhill starting with this picture I sent to my midwife partners:

It ended distastefully if not predictably with the following pic sent to my family:

During one thread, my dad had the audacity to ask why I hadn't found a dead body, to which I had to admit I couldn't be so lucky.  I believe my exact response was:

Although the treasures I found were absolutely worthless, the conversation it sparked was priceless.  And just because the conversation was everything Maria, don't think for one instant I've stopped hating you...  Oh, and I'm keeping the pipe...

Twins

This is me and my Emma checking out a lighthouse in Salem, Massachusetts:

As my small fan base would know, we went to Salem around Halloween with my friend Renee and her kids.  Unlike Hannah, Emma still likes me and doesn't seem to mind all the adventures I make her go on with me.  In fact, every Sunday, I try to take my kids to someplace new so that we can grow to appreciate Rhode Island and the rest of New England fully.  I call it our Sunday Adventure and Emma will often ask me what I have planned ahead of time. She also seems genuinely disappointed if we have to miss an adventure day.  Everyone thinks Emma looks just like me but I just can't see it.

Even though I don't believe that Emma "looks just like you..." she has inherited my inability to keep anything a secret.  If there is anything that she knows that might at all be embarrassing, improper, or questionable, she vomits it out to the first person that will lend her an ear.  She's ratted me out for being commando, pooping my pants, telling complete strangers about all the horrible things I've done to my siblings... seriously, no detail is too minute for her to keep track of or blurt out at just the right time.

I realized she had begun to transcend her tattle tale mentality when she began to vomit every detail about her own life to anyone that would listen...

With this step, she has begun a tradition in her own life that was started generations before her and I couldn't be more excited about it!  This is a picture of my paternal grandma Camilla with her first baby:


This woman was famous for sharing everything.  My favorite story was when she knew she needed to go to the bathroom while she was mowing the lawn one day.  She kept holding it because she needed to finish the mowing and before you knew it, she had pooped her pants.  Any person labeled "normal" by traditional society would have washed her shame away and hid the evidence from everyone.  Not Camilla D.  That lovely lunatic cleaned up and immediately let her next door neighbor know all the gory details.  Fantastic.

Then of course, there's this lady:

I don't think I need to expand here.  I have plenty of blogging hours under my belt to prove where I stand on the issue...

Yesterday, I had to take Emma to the pediatrician because I thought she might have a bladder infection.  Given that she's 11 and hasn't mastered the art of solo urine collection, she requested I go in to help her.  The collection was going well until she suddenly let go with a large burst of pee and before I knew it, she had whizzed all over my hand.  I teased her about it a bit and thought that would be the end of it until I noticed she had sent this text to her sister Kayley:

My heart beamed.  Especially because she gave Kayley no context.  If I had not chimed in and discussed what was going on, it would have left the door open for all sorts of interpretation.  In like fashion, I publically announced Emma's triumph to the world:

However, I realized later when my friend Kareena texted back to insinuate I was pregnant, that I forgot to mention Emma in the snap.  Therefore, it looks like I peed on my own hand.  Just to teach Emma that shame hanging around bodily functions does not belong in our lives, I only clarified the situation to Kareena.  That's right Emma, all my Snapchat friends think I peed on my hands and I don't care!  Keep up the good work little gremlin, you're well on your way to becoming my twin inside and out (for those that can see the out part).  Just please don't tell anyone I'm pregnant...

Happy Holidays Maria

Well Thanksgiving has come and gone and it was nice to spend ours with my friend Renee and her family.  The food was good, the company was fine, and nothing started on fire.  Disappointing, but expected.  Here's some photos of our day:

No sooner had we finished eating then I realized I normally set up my Christmas tree on Thanksgiving day.  Only problem?  My front room still needed new paint and was in no condition to accept the beauty of the season.  As such, I bullied Jared into letting me stop all the sanding I've been doing on my doors and banisters and let me get the front room done instead.  For the last two days, I have done nothing but paint, then go to work, then paint some more.  I let youtube babysit my children and didn't think twice about my poor decision.  Want to know what Bubba did while I was distracted?

Yep.  I have four videos of her doing that very thing on my phone.  Obviously she was bored.  I won't deny what a neglectful mother I am, but she'll be happy once the tree is up.

Although painting can be tedious, it's actually quite an inexpensive and satisfying upgrade to a room.  Maria the jerk had my front room painted this poop brown color.  She had multiple different types of texture on the walls and two holes that used to hold sconces over which she screwed a plastic cover.  I'd like to spend three years complaining about all the problems in my house, including that I now need a new furnace because Maria bought the cheapest unit ever and then had it installed incorrectly.  However, I've been running into quite a lot of writer's block lately so I need to save a few ideas in case I get into a blogging emergency.  Therefore, let me just say that I picked a beautiful yellow color and after all the repairs and finish work is finally done, that front room will be comfy, cozy, and ready to accept a Christmas tree. 

Although I think I do a nice job with painting and choosing colors to match my bright and colorful soul, my sister Briana thinks my taste in colors is ridiculous.  She is by far my worst critic, and spent a lot of time telling me how gaudy and trashy I was when we both lived in Idaho Falls.  I let her help me pick out my front room color in Idaho so that I would have one room that wasn't a carnival color.  She found a shade called Malted Milk that was just lovely.  We found a light blue to match and I immediately told her it was going on the ceiling.  She berated me and told me decent people don't paint their ceilings weird colors.  I didn't listen and as a consequence, it was gorgeous, and even Briana admitted she had been wrong about her ceiling rule. 

When I started slapping my yellow on the walls yesterday, I got a little nostalgic, so I sent a selfie to Briana.

I'm sure deep down she really does like the yellow and is jealous of my unabashed living because today she texted me and told me she missed me and wished I hadn't moved so far away.  I know Briana.  I'm pretty fabulous  You don't have to tell me twice.  Actually, I kind of miss her too because who is going to keep me from making poor color decisions?  No one.  That's who.  Oh well.  I guess the vibrant yellow stays and it's one more thing that is helping Maria and her horrible influence to disappear from this house.  Happy Holidays and good riddance.  May the peace of the season keep you far away from me. 

Thanksgiving Blues

As you may have noticed, Thanksgiving is a week away.  Because I don't have my mommy to feed me anymore, I had to make alternate plans so that some other sucker will cook a turkey for me.  Last year, I was living with Renee and so by default, her family invited me to their Thanksgiving feast.  A few weeks ago, I invited myself and my brood over to Renee's celebration for a second time.  Luckily for me, she still doesn't know what a dirtbag I really am deep down, so she agreed to let me come over.  My assignment is gravy, rolls, and dessert.  I would have agreed to almost anything as long as I didn't have to take responsibility for the turkey!  I have a sneaking suspicion that I will never experience the nonsense that has often been a part of mine and/or Jared's family's Thanksgiving celebrations when hanging with Renee.  You want examples?  How about the fact that Jared's family colors their mashed potatoes every year.  Do you know how creepy it is to eat orange, green, or pink potatoes?  What about the time my sister Chris served us a raw turkey?  Or even the time that we lit the sweet potato casserole on fire three times before it could make it to the table.  I can even mention the time my dad bought a bunch of crappy pies from the Schwan man which I bet cost him a million bucks.  Then he was mad when we all ended up making homemade pies anyway because frozen pies taste like B-U-T-T-H-O-L-E-S.  As a consequence, we had even more pies than normal and were forced to eat his yucky ones just so he would shut up about all the money he spent.  Yeah, Thanksgiving at Renee's is probably just going to be a bunch of good food shared with people that behave themselves, but no one is perfect I guess.

Since the holidays are on their way, eggnog has made it's annual appearance as well.  Thanksgiving might be around the corner for me, but Reed's dairy no longer is.  This means that there is no eggnog joy in my life anymore.  I have made a few attempts these last 2 seasons to find an acceptable substitute, but such a thing does not exist and never can.  I cannot stress enough to those who are unfamiliar with Reed's dairy, that their chocolate milk, eggnog, and chocolate eggnog can never be equaled...  Ever... Period...  Believe me when I say, that unless you take a trip to Idaho Falls, ID and taste the magic for yourself, you will never understand how empty your life has been, and how meaningless it will be ever after as long as Reed's is not available.  Here's my eggnog attempt this year...

I'm secretly hoping that my dad reads my blog and will feel tender towards me and spend a million dollars to ship me some Reed's eggnog instead of wasting his moola on more crappy Schwan's pies.  However, my dad reads meaningful things like WWII books, and books on the American revolution, and the newspaper.  He most certainly does not waste time reading the fluff that one finds on the pages of my blog.  I know my mom reads my blog, but she's cheaper than I am, so she'd never feel sorry enough for me to ship me eggnog.  The last thing she mailed me was a paint scraper that she got for free from someone.  I'm also pretty sure she had my dad mail it so that she wouldn't have to waste her own dough helping me out.  Don't deny it mommy, I respect your frugality.  Plus, I actually love that scraper and hope it lasts so that I don't have to spend MY money on a new one.

Oh well, Thanksgiving is gonna be different from now on.  It's also gonna be several seasons before I am able to get home for some real egg nog.  It's cool.  I'm over it already.  Know why?

 

I Still Want To Strangle you Maria

This week I had two small roofs repaired on my home that ended up costing me more than was quoted when I agreed to purchase the house.  Worse still, I learned that I now need to replace all the gutters and downspouts on my house as well.  I cried a little when I found out.  I plotted the previous owner's death for the 20th time.  I then swallowed my anger and came up with a plan to get the money I need for repairs.  Just when I think that I can't take anymore bad news about my house and that I am willing to go to jail for some heinous, violent act against Maria the jerk, something wonderful happens.  Like driving to Salem, Massachusetts to check out the nonsense at Halloween time.  It was ridiculous how many people were there, but it's pretty fantastic that it was no big deal for us to go.  Here's the three littles with my friends Renee and Briana in front of the Witch House.  Hannah of course would not get in the pic:

Know what else kept me from killing Maria?  Remembering how wonderful it is to live in New England and to be able to watch the leaves change.  We decided to go on a Sunday drive up north and drove to Portland, Maine to check out their leaves.  That's right.  It's no big deal to pop up to Maine from Rhode Island:

We had a lovely time.  Even Hannah.  Check it out:

Ok.  I know it doesn't look like she's having a good time, but at the end of our trip, she found a rock placed there by some crazy group that hides rocks and she was pretty stoked about it...

We posted the pic to Facebook as they requested and then promptly mailed the rock to Kayley so that she could hide it in Idaho somewhere.  I hope the rock lunatics from Maine enjoy my effort.


I also took a reprieve from hating Maria the fibber when this guy showed up:

That's right!  He's raiding the giant rock pile Maria left!  He filled his truck and then asked to come back on Wednesday for more.  You bet buddy.  I'll tell Maria you give your good wishes.

It also was wonderful to spend our first Halloween together in Rhode Island.  The kids made out like bandits and I got to enjoy listening to them get candy from the Mafia.  Seriously, the accents here are awesome and it still feels like every Rhode Islander has to be in the mob just because of the way they talk.  I also loved how many of the people stood outside waiting for the kids to arrive so that they didn't even have to knock on the doors.  Seriously Rhodies.  Can you be any cooler?  Here's the trick or treating crew this year...

Yep, I've had a lot of disappointment with my new home, but it's also huge, has a nice big yard, and still has a lot of potential, provided I can continue to find the dough to make my vision a reality.  You're lucky I have such a positive attitude Maria.  It's the only thing keeping you alive...

School Nurse

One of the biggest changes that Jared and I have experienced with moving to Rhode Island is the amount of increased taxes that we pay when compared to Idaho.  Extra taxes on our cars, our home, and our paychecks.  I'd like to say that I can see a benefit with all the extra money that we have been paying, but unfortunately, the government in the East seems to be even more irresponsible with my money than the government in the West was.  Perhaps the biggest annoyance with paying increased taxes, is that the schools can afford to have a school nurse in every school.  I am convinced that these women are paid just to piss me off and I much prefer Idaho's school system where they could not afford to pay anyone with any kind of medical background to stick their noses in your business.  Your kid would have to be nearly dead before anyone would notice, let alone have the guts to call you to come pick them up.  Given that my approach to childhood illness is based on the assumption that every kid is lying about every health ailment until proven otherwise, the Idaho school system suited me just fine.  My kids have been in school for exactly 7 weeks in Rhode Island, and I have already had 4 phone calls from the school nurse, three of them from Bubba's! 

My first encounter with the efficiency of the school nurse program happened during the first week of school.  I filled out paperwork on every single one of my daughters at the main district office prior to the first day of school and gave permission for the school nurses to give basic over the counter medications like Tylenol and Ibuprofen.  This was done in an effort to cut any whining off at the pass.  Unfortunately, Hannah had a headache at school so the school nurse called me to ask if she could give Hannah some Ibuprofen. 

Me:  I filled out the permission slip at the district office giving you permission

School nurse:  I don't have that slip here at the high school

Me in a condescending and impatient tone:  Well I filled one out and gave permission for you to give her anything you can

School nurse:  Well, can I give her some Tylenol

Me, after a pregnant pause:  Uh, yes.  That's why I gave permission at the district office.  Can you mark that down for the rest of the year please?

School nurse:  Sure, but I'm going to go ahead and give her some Tylenol today ok

Me, not very genuinely:  Thanks

Me to Hannah later:  Start carrying Ibuprofen so that the school nurses will stop bothering me...


I stupidly thought my troubles with the school nurses would be over, but not three days later, Bubba's school nurse called me...

School nurse:  Elizabeth fell off of the monkey bars and her wrist is hurting.  You may want to think about coming to get her to take her to the doctor

Me:  Is she moving it?

School nurse:  Actually she's moving it very well and she's even seems to have full range of motion but you know she did fall on it pretty hard.

Me:  Well I don't want to come get her if she is doing ok

School nurse:  Do you want to talk to her and see what you think?

Me, humoring the school nurse:  Ok. 

Bubba:  Hi mom.  I don't know what they did with my lunch box.  Are they still going to let me eat lunch?

Me, after telling Bubba to put the school nurse back on:  I think she's ok



Jump ahead to about 3 weeks ago:

School nurse:  Hi, Elizabeth has a fever of 99.2 and has a cough and it sounds horrible

Me:  99.2 is not a fever.  I am not taking her out of school for that

School nurse:  Well that cough sounds terrible

Me:  She's a kid and she gets a cough several times a year.  I can't take her out of school for a cough.

School nurse:  Well can I give her some Tylenol for the fever

Me, after exhaling very dramatically:  I filled out a permission slip for all the girls weeks ago

School nurse:  I don't have it.  Can I please give her some Tylenol

Me after another long sigh:  Yes please

School nurse:  I'm going to watch that fever and if it doesn't come down you are going to have to take her home.

Me, not feeling very genuine:  Ok, thanks a lot



Fast forward to today.  My Bubba actually tried to die this week and caught pneumonia.  I took her to the doctor twice, started her on antibiotics, had her out of school for a total of four days and had a Dr note to send her back today.  Unfortunately, I slept in and my lover walked her to school instead of driving her.  Therefore, her angry little lungs were stimulated and she was coughing up a storm when she got there.  Guess who called?...


School nurse:  Hi, Elizabeth has a horrible cough and I need to send her home

Me after arguing with the nurse for a while:  No.  She has a doctor's note to be back in school

School nurse:  But she's coughing and coughing and can't stop

Me:  Listen, her doctor said she shouldn't be taking anything for the cough so that her lungs can clear it, so am I supposed to give her something to stop the cough so that you won't call me and try to send her home?

School nurse:  But I feel terrible for her.  She doesn't have a fever but she sounds terrible.

Me, barely holding back my rage:  She has pneumonia.  She's going to cough.  She's on antibiotics.  I can't keep her out of school anymore.  She's been out for four days and the Dr. said she could go back today.  My husband walked her to school and shouldn't have.  The cough will calm down.  Just watch it for awhile.

School nurse:  She's been out for four days?  Ok, I'll try sending her back to class...

What happened?  Well, Bubba finished the school day, and I went to Ikea and hung out with Jared that's what.  Why?  Because I'm a mom that won't be swayed by the silly worries of a school nurse, even if my taxes help keep her in the school.  She needs to come and hang around with me at home sometime and grow a spine.  Kids lie about everything!  You as the adult have to be able to see through their shenanigans.  I'm a momma that believes you have to be actually dying before I'll let you skip the hot mess we call the public school system and I'm happy to teach my expertise to any novice that wants to learn my ways.  If anyone needs further proof that I did the right thing, just check out what Bubba did with my phone right before bed:

That's right.  I know what I'm doing people.  And by people, I really mean the school nurse...