Tag Archives: TV

Casper the Not-Water-Conservation-Friendly Ghost

Remember how I told you our new house was haunted? I’ve been waivering  on whether or not I believe it.

A friend’s exhusband and their children who lived in the house relayed to us that the most common place for stuff to happen was in the bathroom (and Boo’s closet). Apparently, one of the favorite things for the spirit to do is turn on the sink faucet.

Riiiiiiight….

The day after she told us that Kiefer took Ozzy for a walk and I picked up our dinner. When I came back, Kiefer and Ozzy were still gone, but I heard something in the bathroom. The water in the sink was running.

What the….

So now all I’m picturing is something scary standing over the baby’s crib, like this:

Yellow-eyed demons eat babies…

And we all know what yellow-eyed demons do to baby mamas.

Death by ceiling fire…

It’s been nice knowing all of you. Please use the comments to call dibs on my personal belongings.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I still catch the Husband occasionally saying to his friends, ‘Yeah I’m going to go hang out with my girlfriend…I mean wife. I’m going with my wife. I don’t have a girlfriend. Just a wife. Yeah….”—LauraLord


What’s a Wedding Without a Trampoline?

The morning after the wedding, as Radley was pouring his cereal, he said, “Good morning, Stepmom!”

It was cute. Nothing had changed, yet it had.

The Monday after the wedding at a meeting, I introduced myself as “Thoughtsy Appear.” My coworkers responded with “Who is that?” until I corrected my name to “Thoughtsy Sutherland.”

But I think the best (i.e., worst) title slip-up took place just a couple days after the wedding.

Kiefer: I guess I can’t call you my fiancee anymore.

Thoughtsy: What?! Why?

Kiefer: Seriously?

Thoughtsy: Oh…right…because we got married Saturday. Oops…I knew that.

We didn’t have a trampoline at our wedding. That’s my excuse for forgetting.

I swear my natural hair color is not blond.

Sorry, Kelso. You have some competition.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Maybe if you just went all sports bra, all the time, Kiefer would leave your SuperUniBoob alone?”—GoJulesGo


How To Turn Your Dog Into a Zombie Killer

Since I’ve been pregnant, Ozzy Pups has gotten…well…protective.

My sweet pups who wanted to greet everyone is now my personal bodyguard.

  • Long gone are the walks where he tried to play with everyone; now he pulls me away from most males on our walks.
  • Long gone are his rapid tail wags when anyone comes to the door; now he barks if I’m home alone.
  • Long gone is my growl-free pups. If I’m home by myself when you visit, prepare to be stared down and even growled at once or twice until Kiefer comes home. Unless you bring children. Ozzy loves children. But don’t worry, once Kiefer comes home, Ozzy Pups will cover you in apology kisses.

Any suggestions on dealing with a pregnancy-protective dog would be much appreciated.

We’ve tried to channel Ozzy’s protectiveness. Specifically, we’re training him to only protect us against zombies.

Here’s how you can do that.

Step 1: Start small. Start with a zombie part.

I suggest this zombie foot.*

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Kiefer will lead you to believe that long cylinder-shaped neon green toy is NOT a dog toy. I assure you, it is.

Step 2: Work your way up to an entire zombie.

I suggest Undead Fred.** Say things like, “Where’s your zombie?” so the dog learns the terminology.

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We’re just chilling…watching some TV.

See how Ozzy befriends Undead Fred and lures him into a false sense of security. Ozzy can now infiltrate the zombie ranks.

Step 3: Show your dog an episode of Walking Dead.

This shows your dog the true nature of zombies and what we do to them. Then say, “Where’s your zombie? GET IT! GET YOUR ZOMBIE!”

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My name is Ozzy Pups. You are a baby-eating zombie. Prepare to die.

Step 4: Undead Fred is now…dead.

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Zombie eliminated.

Ozzy choose to eat Undead Fred’s mouth—the most dangerous part—and then rip out the stuffing brains, so other zombies will assume it was a case of zombie cannibalism.

*The zombie foot and Undead Fred came from ThinkGeek.

**Undead Fred’s name has been changed in case zombies press charges.

Favorite Comment From Last Post:

Doctor: We made a mistake.
Me: Oh s#^t there’s two in there, isn’t there? (In my defense, I was huge)
Doctor: Nope. But it’s not a boy.
Me: Crap. Everything’s blue and there are way too many baseballs.—LauraLord


Hi, This Is Your Friend Ob Gin Calling

Keeping a pregnancy a secret is hard. It’s especially hard  for me keeping it a secret from the two boys you live with.

You hide ultrasounds, you start paying the kids to empty the kitty litter, and you have to explain why you’re suddenly sleeping all the time and don’t feel like ice cream.

Radley kept stumbling upon baby clues. Only he was too young (10) to put it all together.

Radley: This is the second night in a row you haven’t eaten a salad for dinner. Are you feeling ok?

Radley: Did you get McDonalds? You don’t eat fast food.

And then, there was the phone call from my friend: Ob Gin.

My phone rang, Radley grabbed it, looked at it, and as he handed it over, says…

Radley: It’s Ob Gin.

Thoughtsy: Who?

Radley: Ob Gin.

Thoughtsy: ::blank stare::

Radley: ::shrug::

You look down at your phone and read “ObGyn,” and realize maybe it’s time to tell let them in on the secret.

Once I hit 12 weeks, Kiefer and I sat the boys down to tell them. Since we’re all fans of How I Met Your Mother, we contemplated just giving them each a baby sock (Awwww…sock!) and letting them figure it out. Plus…that’s how I told Kiefer.

Instead, we opted for a more mature and responsible approach.

Kiefer: Thoughtsy and I have something to tell you.

Radley: I think I know what it is.

Kiefer: What?

Radley: We’re getting a puppy. (He overheard a conversation about The Hipster getting him a pug. Oops.)

Kiefer: No. Thoughtsy is pregnant. You’re going to have a little brother or sister!

Boo: Wow!

Radley: You two have been naughty.

Boo: Is it a boy or a girl?

Kiefer: We don’t know yet.

Radley: Hey Dad, when the baby is my age, you’ll be 50.

Kiefer: I know….

Radley: I mean 51.

Kiefer: Please stop talking.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I know this is meant to be all about the baby… But… WHAT THE HELL ESME?! Two muffins? Don’t you know mama needs her strength?”—AndTodayFolks


Papa-Papa-Paparazzi

Be wery quiet….
Cat 1

We’re hunting wabbit….
Cat 2

Cat 3

What’s up, Doc?

Heeeey…that’s not a wabbit!

Cat4

Esme: Why are you always in my face?

Cat5

Esme: Kiss it. Just kiss it!

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I’m not sure what the Sweet Potato Queens guidelines say on this, but I do notice that the apology was not accompanied by a cupcake.”—Hippie Cahier