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.

 

The Secret to Time Travel

The other day I was driving by myself. ::ahem:: I was in the car alone. ::ahem:: It was just me. No Scout. No kids. Period.

That never happens.

So I did what any adult that’s been singing “Sesame Street,” “Where Is Thumbkin?,” and “Old MacDonald” would do.

I blasted some Rage Against the Machine. And some Rob Zombie. And some punk music.

Who cares that it was from the late 90s?

You do.

Why? Because listening to that combination of music transports you back to the early 90s.

Whoa.

Excuse me…

How do I know I traveled back in time?

Because I passed a billboard advertising that A Different World was on TV.

Some of you young people are saying, “What’s a billboard?” Some of you even younger people are asking, “What’s A Different World?

A TV show that was on in the late 80s and early 90s. Obviously, I traveled back in time because I don’t know why anyone would need a billboard for a TV show that’s been over for 20 years.

So to recap…

Listening to 90s Music = Time Travel.

You’re welcome.

 

 

 

The Safest Way to Wish Someone a Happy’s Mother’s Day

A few years ago I dreaded going out on Mother’s Day. Miscarriages will do that to you. People assume you’re a mother and then you break down crying and the well-wisher assumes all mothers are crazy and becomes sympathetic to Norman Bates.

Or maybe you’re like me years before that and have a boyfriend who takes forever to propose and when people wish you a “Happy Mother’s Day!” your response is “I’ll never have kids!”

Anyways…the point is there is only one safe way to wish someone a “Happy Mother’s Day!” And it happened to me a few years ago.

Other Person: You’re not a mother, are you? You don’t look old enough to have kids.

I looked plenty old enough to have kids, but still…Best words ever. Then he continued:

Other Person: Well, maybe next year I’ll wish you a Happy Mother’s Day.

Maybe.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers out there! And if you’re not a mother yet, maybe next year will be your year. Besides you don’t look old enough to have kids anyway. Do you even have your driver’s license yet?

Choosy Dogs Choose Jif

Ozzy Pups never used to bark. At anyone. At anything (except the printer that one time).

Then, about two years ago, we moved. And the dog across the street barks every time someone walks by.

So does the dog next door. And the dog across the street and two houses up. So does the dog three houses up and the dog that lives behind us.

You get the point.

Now Ozzy barks when dogs walk by and almost every time someone comes to the door.

Which is awesome when I’m trying to get Scout to sleep.

Even awesomer now that Scout is down to one nap that just so happens to take place exactly when our mail person arrives. Nothing better than seeing your little one’s eyes flutter as you read them a story, and then BOOM! BARK! BARK! BARK!

Like I said, Awesome.

That leaves me with only one choice. To sacrifice the peanut butter….

Choosy Dogs Choose Jif

 

Oh. My. God. Becky, Look at Her Butt….

Scout looks absolutely nothing like me. She might have my hair, but Kiefer’s hair is darkish, too, so it’s hard to tell.

If I hadn’t been in labor with her for nearly 30 hours, I might question that she was actually my child.

But the other day, this happened:

And it reminded me of this:

Look familiar? Are you looking at my butt? Because that’s not what I meant. Scout’s wearing a diaper, so you can’t really compare our butts.

We both love giant beanbags!

You’re still looking at my butt, aren’t you?