Category Archives: Ewww

Moment of Truth: No, I Don’t Actually Want to Be a Vampire

I told my husband he’s never allowed to go business travel ever again. EVER. Because something always happens while he’s gone that I am not equipped to deal with don’t want to handle.

  • First, the boys clogged a toilet.
  • Another trip another toilet.
  • Then the basement flooded. A foot or so of water.

That’s not even the worst. Okay, technically, it was the worst because stuff was ruined, and it was expensive to fix.

The worst was…

  • A flippin’ bat in our bedroom in the around 5 AM.

I wish I had reacted like this:

But no.

I reacted like this:

Please just don’t get in my hair.

I screamed “I’m don’t want to be a vampire anymore!” (a whisper scream because Scout’s room is right across the room from ours and waking the baby is never an option) and ran out of the room. I did pause to pull Scout’s bedroom door shut (read: motherly instinct to save the baby).

In my panic, I did have some coherent thoughts, such as…

  • Vampires don’t like light, so turn on all the lights!
  • Maybe the bat is Bill Compton, and I can reason with him.
  • Isn’t a bat just a mouse with wings? Maybe Esme Kitty will catch it. (The answer is no. My lazy cat will not catch it. Black cats don’t catch other evil creatures because they’re on the same team.)
  • Call Dad.

Yes, that’s right. Even women in their mid-30s need their dads sometimes.

Then the bat flew into the living room. I couldn’t wait for my dad, and I had to take matters into my own hands.

With a few Mission Impossible-esque somersaults, I made it to the front and back doors and opened them. After 5 minutes of taking cover from a bat that didn’t like ceiling fans and more whispering screaming from me, the bat finally made it outside.


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



Are You Crapping Me?

Captain’s Log, Star Date December 12, 2013.

It’s been 13 days since Kiefer left for his business trip. He should return today.

But…if he doesn’t…I don’t know…how much longer I’ll survive on my own.

I’ve seen things…no woman should have to see. I’m done things…no pregnant woman should have to do. ::shudder::

It all started with laryngitis. Laryngitis that’s still not gone because it’s impossible to rest my voice when I’m the only person around to stop Ozzy Pups from stealing socks (Drop it!).

Then there was all of that snow.

But now, things have just gotten progressively harder.

Boo and his friend hung out at the house for a couple hours before basketball practice. Boo’s friend used the bathroom…and he…clogged the toilet in MY bathroom, not the kids’ bathroom.

Of course, I didn’t discover the clog until I was already doing the pee-pee dance. I had two options:

  1. Use the kids’ bathroom upstairs…which is never a good idea.
  2. Unclog the toilet myself.

Since I’ve never actually plunged a toilet, and because a pregnant woman with a heightened sense of smell should never have to plunge a toilet that’s been clogged by a kid that’s not even hers, I choose Option #3:

Call Dad to unclog the toilet while I ran Boo and his friend to practice.

I’ve decided to head off future bathroom problems by placing a woman figure on my bathroom door.

If Kiefer isn’t home this afternoon, this may be my last entry. Please send reinforcements…and extra bathrooms.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I agree…that’s classic protective behavior. Ozzy is putting himself between you and potential frosty danger, just like a Secret Service man. You should get him a little earpiece and some shades.”—BluzDude

The Blue Hat Hospital Club Welcomes a New Member

On Monday, Kiefer had surgery (he’s ok). Medical procedures and Kiefer are always a fun combination…for me, not him.

A few years ago, Kiefer had Lasik. The aftermath (aka Drugged-Up Kiefer) was entertaining. After insisting he was fine, he nearly fell off the curb and spent 5 minutes trying to get the key in the front door.

Once we were home, I gave him a lemon-filled powdered doughnut because I’m evil the lemon ones were one of his favorites and I wanted one for myself, too.

Powder everywhere. And he had no clue.

Kiefer looked like this…but older.

But the drugs from this surgery weren’t fun drugs. They were groggy drugs. Which meant instead of snickering at a sugar-covered Kiefer, I answered his same questions over and over again.

No fun.

But I had plenty of other entertainment at the hospital eavesdropping people watching. Here’s what I learned:

  • One lady doesn’t shave her legs during any months with an “R” in them.
  • Hospitals have a Blue Hat Club. All the important people wear the blue scrub-hair-covering things.
  • When delivering your baby, have an overnight bag…and a cooler. It was probably full of beer.
  • Hospitals give you free socks.
  • Leave the room entirely when someone get an IV.

This last one is especially important. I turned away when Kiefer got his IV. Only the first one didn’t work, so I turned back around just in time to see a bloody needle.

And that was enough to send a queasy pregnant me to the bathroom gagging.

Hopefully, when I go into labor, the nurse will only stick me once. Otherwise…

Damn you, karma.

Once the Door Is Open

Before I was pregnant, I started reading a blog written by a newly pregnant woman. She’d just found out she was pregnant, and it was cool to follow her on her new journey.

But I noticed something about her posts. She wrote about poop. A lot. Apparently, when you’re pregnant, weird shit happens. Literally.

And I swore when I was pregnant, I would never blog about poo. Because that’s yucky. And because girls don’t poo.

But you know what? I’m allowing myself one pregnancy poo post. Why? Because it’s funny.

While Kiefer and I were in Greece….

Kiefer: Are you ready to check out?

Thoughtsy: Yep. Go ahead down, and I’ll meet you there.

Kiefer: I can wait for you.

Thoughtsy: Awwww…that’s sweet. But I have to go to the bathroom.

Kiefer: You pee a lot.

Thoughtsy: No. I have to go to the bathroom.

Kiefer: ::blank stare::

Thoughtsy: In the 5 years we’ve been together, I’ve yet to go #2 while you’re around, and I’m not about to start now.

That was me opening the door. Figuratively. Not literally.

this is 40

I can only pray that I never literally open the bathroom door. After a 9-week ultrasound, this happened:

Thoughtsy: All my clothes are tight. Stupid baby bloat.

Kiefer: You mean all the pooping?

Thoughtsy: What? ::pause:: I have no idea how to recover from that question.

Not often is Kiefer able to catch me unawares. But he did, and I have only myself to blame. But I refused to let him win; I could take him. Not able to come up with something clever, I had only one option: give him too much information.

Thoughtsy: Actually pregnancy makes you constipated.

Kiefer: ::silence::

I thought he might make the obvious “you’re-full-of-it” response, but he didn’t. Ha! I won!

Or so I thought. Once we got home, I started eating a cheese stick.

Kiefer: You know that’s not going to help your problem, right?

Well played, Kiefer. Well played.

Ladies, guys are just always going to be better with the poo comebacks. Don’t fight it. And for goodness sake, don’t open the door.