Where’s the Kitty?

Ozzy Pups and Esme Kitty like to play hide and seek.

Only…they’re not very good at it.

Ozzy likes to look in all the logical places Esme might be: like her cat carrier.

Ozzycarrier

Or maybe he’s trying to hide here. I’m not really clear who is hiding and who is seeking.

Esme, on the other hand, prefers to try to squeeze into places she can’t fit.

Drawer Kitty

“If you had less clothes, I would totally fit in here.”

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Luckily our dog that chases things is terribly inept at it and wouldn’t know what to do if he caught anything. The other likes to only eat already dead things. We’re so lucky and blessed!”—The Cannibalistic Nerd


My Dog Ate Your Bird. Oops.

Last week I blogged about the downside to being a stay-at-home mom, which is killing bugs yourself instead of having your husband do it.

There is another downside: dealing with birds.

Ozzy Pups caught a bird in our backyard. It was only a matter of time before this happened.* He’s fast, jumps high, and our neighbors feed all the birds and squirrels constantly so they’re fat and slow.

*Ozzy may have killed a squirrel last summer, but because I didn’t actually see it happen, I just tell myself the squirrel fell from a tree, the fall killed it, and Ozzy just found him.

A wounded, bleeding bird was in my backyard.

I swear the bird looked exactly like this. Book and all.

I should have celebrated and chalked up a point for me in the war against birds, but instead, I felt bad for it.

So what did I do?

I called Kiefer so he could come home and kill it.*

*To put it out of its misery, not because I hate birds.

He refused. So I gave the bird some water and kept Ozzy inside to save the bird from further torment.

Two hours later, the bird flew away.

*I’m not sure how because I’m pretty sure there were more feathers in the yard than on the bird.

Three hours later, my car was covered in bird poo. Coincidence? I think not.


Stay-At-Home Mom Battles Bugs and Wins!

Scout is just over 3 months old, and I love staying home to take care of her and soak up as much of her cuteness as possible.

But being at home also stinks.

Here’s why:

Bugs

I hate bugs. All of them. And last week they teamed up on me.

Never have I ever been stung by a bee, so I’m especially scared of them because I am terrified by the unknown.

I mean, look at childbirth. I’d never been through that before and that was awful. I’m sure bee stings are equally as awful.

So the bee is buzzing around the kitchen window.

I wish the bee looked this friendly.

I decided to grab some paper towels to wrap around my hand to protect it, so I could reach next to the bee to unlatch and open the window.

One problem. There was a spider on the paper towels.

Seriously? Seriously.

A bee and a spider? At the same time. Life is so unfair.

I’ve read Scary Stores to Tell in the Dark, and I know what happens when spiders bite you. This:

So I had a choice to make: bee sting or spider bite.

I decided to take on the bee sans paper towel shield. Luckily, the bee flew out the window without a stinging incident.

Then I ripped off the paper towel and dropped it in the trash and took it outside.

But that’s the downside to being a stay-at-home mom. You have to risk your life to take care of the creepy crawlies yourself.


Applying Lyrics From the 90s to My Life: I Saw the Sign

See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Is it possible that there are no coincidences?—Signs

I believe in signs.

I believe there’s a reason I always said, “There’s no way I’m going back to Kiefer…unless he proposes…with a ring…and has tickets to Vegas.” And then…that happened.

I believe there’s a reason Kiefer and I saw this sign in Washington, DC, on a date after he proposed.

sign

Most signs aren’t this clear.

I believe there’s a reason that a week after I said “Yes,” we finally found a new house.

I believe there’s a reason that a couple months after Kiefer’s proposal we got pregnant…and got this cutie pie:

Rainbow

I like putting her in hats that are too big for her. It makes her head look smaller, which makes my nether regions feel better.

Everyone with me now: I believe I can fly…I believe I can touch the sky….

Sorry. My writing made me channel R. Kelly. If you don’t know the song, don’t tell me. It’ll make me feel old.

Do you see signs?

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Those toilets are real time savers though. If you go in with some shampoo, you can squeeze in a quick shower.”—correctionsandclarifications


Self-Flushing Toilets: A Woman’s Worst Enemy

I recently decided not to return to work, so I can stay home with Scout. Now that’s she’s smiling sans gas, I don’t want to miss one second of her cuteness.

I’ll miss my coworkers, but one thing I will not miss is the work restroom. Specifically, the self-flushing toilets.

I don’t really understand self-flushing toilets. Are people so lazy they really can’t be bothered to flush a toilet?

Just to be clear: you just press down.

 

So an engineer decided to take out his anger at nonflushing people on all of us. The engineer said, “You know what would be funny? If the toilet flushed randomly, giving people everywhere wet bottoms.”

The toilets at my work flush without warning. And they flush with such force that water sprays up. All over the toilet seat if you’re lucky, and all over your behind if you’re unlucky.

While I was pregnant, it was even worse. I’d run to the bathroom heaving with morning sickness, and while I was leaning over the toilet, it would flush, so I’d have to jump up mid-gag to avoid a face full of toilet water.

Thank goodness I only had morning sickness the first trimester. In the third trimester, there’d have been no jumping up.

Oooooooor…maybe self-flushing toilets aren’t because of lazy people. Maybe it has something to do with germs? Some genius said, “People touch the toilet handle with dirty hands, so let’s have it flush automatically.”

If that’s the case, why doesn’t the stall door open automatically? Imagine the trouble that would cause: bathroom stall doors opening randomly midpee. It would be chaos.

But a wet tushie…that’s so much better.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Those were the days. Now, people look at you funny when you bring your 9-year-old into the comfy-chair breastfeeding room. Haters.”—Pegoleg

 

 


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