When Your Mommy's a Midwife...

In the majority of this world, sex sells.  In my world, sex pays.  I make my living talking about sex, helping people have better sex, preventing babies showing up from all the sex I talk about, and catching babies that show up after even more sex I haven't talked about.

Unfortunately for my daughters, they can't escape my role in the sex trade even when I'm home.  Given all the after hours call I do, they have been exposed to my odd vocabulary during phone conversations instead of what I imagine your average homemaker discusses.  Those words include, but are not limited to:  vaginal discharge, vaginal bleeding, nipples, breasts, intercourse, semen...  the list is endless really.  They also get to hear me rant about vaginal health and genital grooming habits on nearly a daily basis.  My 16 year old has apparently lectured other teens about her favorite mommy quote, "the vagina is a self cleaning oven...  leave it alone," Her second favorite?  "Your vagina is supposed to smell like a vagina, not roses...  leave it alone."  It probably wouldn't be quite so weird if my daughters' friends weren't also exposed to my vernacular and genital soapboxes during their frequent visits to mi casa.  Kayley's friend Bryna spent the entire summer spreading the anti-genital grooming gospel and begged her drum and bugle corp friends to stop shaving their biz-iz-nays.  She was disappointed that her inherited pearls of wisdom were not well received by the teen band geek crowd.

Despite the fact that I have a very odd career, I feel that my daughters benefit from my total lack of embarrassment or boundaries.  My lack of couth allows me to discuss human anatomy and sexual reproduction in any situation and with any audience without discomfort.  It also ensures that my kiddos know facts about sexual relationships instead of heresay gleaned from bathroom stall walls.  Because I am rarely embarrassed, my girlies are pretty unhindered when addressing their issues with me.  This makes for some darn interesting and downright hilarious interactions.  For instance, my younger babies have a brisk trade in back alley Cesarean Sections.  They are constantly delivering each other's "babies" in their closets.  Don't get excited, they just cram a stuffed animal under their shirts, then take turns ripping it out and announcing that another baby has arrived.  If you need another example of how awesome my kids are, take this beauty Kayley left on my dresser when she was about 12:

Under normal circumstances, I frown on using "baby hole" when discussing the vagina, but at least my pre-teen knew she HAD more than one hole!  Plus, that daisy she drew with an obvious painful vaginitis made me pee my drawers.  Kayley detests the fact that I have saved this priceless work of art, but I have derived so much happiness from this stupid piece of paper that I refuse to let it go now!  Yep, being a midwife is pretty fantastic, but having a mommy that's a midwife?  Well that's better than cream for your itchy baby hole!

Aww, Don't Cry Little Unicorn

This is my nurse midwifery student, Marie:

I have actually known her for years because she is one of the labor nurses up at the hospital.  I have always enjoyed working with her and knew that she would be a good CNM if only she wanted to grow into one someday.  I'm sure I probably told her that a lot through the years, but now that she is almost done, I just spend all my time telling her she's a big fat dumbass for wanting to become a midwife.  It's just the long hours, the lack of sleep, and the fact that I haven't had a partner for a LONG time to help me that makes me spout these horrible things.  Unfortunately, now that I'm her preceptor, I also feel it is my duty to ride her like a tick on a dog so that she will be fantastic like me someday.  This has been a very uncomfortable role change for Marie because she is the complete opposite of me for the following reasons:

1. She is soft spoken and quiet
2. She likes sissy things like unicorns
3. She likes to workout and is thin
4. She likes Diet Coke

My personality on the other hand, can be described using a single line from a song by Joan Jett:  "I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation."  I am harsh, opinionated, have zero filter, and am rarely affected by weird behavior like leaking water from ones eyes.  I believe the term is called "crying" in English.  Oh, and let's be very clear about the exercise point - I only participate to be less fat - I do not enjoy it!

The consequence of our natural dichotomy is that I make Marie feel bad a lot.  In fact, I made her leak water from her eyes today, or as I established earlier, I made her cry.  It was deplorable and ugly and I actually felt bad about it for 30 minutes while driving home today, and that is a record for me.  Poor Marie is struggling with keeping her family afloat financially, dealing with the rigors of obtaining her Master's degree, and on top of that, she has me for an instructor.  I feel terrible for her.  Not terrible enough to change mind you, but I do sympathize with her plight.  I just can't help myself really.  I come from a family that observes Mafia Love.  What's Mafia Love?  You know, when someone is in the mafia they will kiss your cheek as they stab you in the gut with a shank?  We are merciless in my family.  Rude, crude, vocal, and of course RIGHT about everything.  Our way or the highway man!  We really do love each other, we just have a different way to express that love.  Like when my mom sent me this selfie.

I told her it looked like she was having a stroke and I was worried about having to feed her once I plopped her in the rest home.  Or how about a few weeks ago when my sis Patty and I were having a disagreement about something.  We started with this: 

And we ended with this:

See what I mean?  It's just natural for me.  I don't mean anything by it, it's just Mafia Love.  So in case Marie is reading this post, I want to say:  don't worry little unicorn - it's gonna be A OK.  Just look at this selfie we took if you don't believe me:

If it would make you feel better, I can give you the contact information for loads of people that I bully and belittle on a daily basis.  You can ask them if you wish, but I'm pretty sure they all still like me.  I have considered that they may be operating under a different Joan Jett lyric, "I hate myself for loving you," but I can't let doubt and worry seep in now.  Life's too short for that nonsense! 

 

Pinhead

My husband acts like a freak during Halloween season because he loves hats and masks.  When Zurchers moved to town a couple of years ago, he had an excuse to act like an idiot 365 days a year.  Given that Hannah wants a real costume this year instead of concocting one from my Halloween box, and knowing I would never pay full price for such a ridiculous luxury, she dragged me to Zurchers so she could spend her babysitting cash.  This was yet another opportunity for Jared to perform his costume freak show.

In the thirty minutes we were there, he pestered me with a clown mask, a pirate wig, a masquerade mask, and this beauty to name a few:  

Because Jared is Swedish, EVERY time he sees a Viking hat he throws one on.  Since I find him strangely attractive in them, I asked for a selfie:

If you recall my anniversary post, I mentioned how his face never changes in pictures.  I forgot about what happens in costume stores.  It's like he's a totally different person and its darn weird!  As if Jared's shenanigans weren't annoying enough, Lily offered this to me...

I freaked!  Especially when I saw the price tag.  I lectured her about how I am a beekeeper and wouldn't need to spend 32 bucks on a stupid imitation costume!  Only then did I hear Jared giggle from a different aisle.

The most intriguing thing about Jared's obsession with hats and masks is that he's a pinhead.  I'm not kidding.  He has to special order his ball caps because his head is so small, the adjustable kind look stupid cranked down on his tiny cabbage.  However, his handicap has never held him back, because he likes squeezing into oddball get ups that most adults can't fit into.  If you doubt me, check out Bubba:

Now me for reference...

And my lover, in the same hat:

You'd never know that was a baby hat with him wandering around.  Jared's brother Zane had seizures for many years and the neurologist told his mom his brain was too big for his skull.  Jared's response was of course related to how tiny his own skull is and yet he's seizure free...

Thankfully, Hannah finally made her choice so we could get the heck outta there and get Jared back to adult mentality.  I had to admit she looks pretty classy and it almost made me want to spend money on a real costume myself.  Check it out:

I wish I could say the freak show is over for the year.  Unfortunately, I was in Zurchers two days ago, and I can guarantee I'll be back before the month is out to watch Jared act like a moron all over again.  At least tonight wasn't a total loss because apparently, the King lives...

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!