Wow. I don’t know about you, but there is nothing–and I mean NOTHING–I love more than sitting down on a sticky, wet toilet seat. Especially when I’m in a hurry. Do you feel me here?
Look. I’m not one of those girls who can’t figure out how a toilet seat works. If you need it up, put it up. If I need it down, I’ll put it down. No complaints here. But really … if you can’t figure out how to lift it up, and default to peeing all over the seat … wow.
Now that I have two boys in my house, I’m not sure where to direct my rage. My husband always blames my son, and my son always blames my husband. I’m not a professional gambler, but if I had to wager … I’m going with … I taught my son better than that.
So, you’ll have to accept my tardiness in posting this blog entry today … I was somewhat indisposed. I haven’t decided yet, but I think my husband’s Christmas present might be a urinal. And since that’s a household fixture, I don’t believe it counts as a material possession. If it does, it’s going on his 100 Things List.
Sorry about that. Here’s how I had *intended* to start this blog today …
Shhhh … can you hear that? Listen carefully. What you are hearing is the sweet sound of silence celebrating my children’s return to school, and my husband’s return to work (after a short hiatus where he was pursuing his career as a professional golfer). That is the sweet sound of opportunity … specifically, my opportunity to get some work done.
But, alas, that will have to be a blog for another day. Instead, what started out as a semi-productive workday has turned into this gloriously sunny late-summer afternoon where my kids have returned home from their first day of school to run around the yard and catch baby frogs, while I pace off our garden plot for aforementioned homegrown organic veggies. And, after a slight detour (which shall never be mentioned again), I’m sitting here on the porch, blogging and enjoying the chatter of my children.
The chatter is going something like this:
“Did Momma tell you we might be getting a kitty?”
“We can’t get a cat. Cats make Momma sneeze.”
Damn it. I did tell them I was allergic to cats the last time they wanted one … but now we’re going to need one for rodent control. Looks like I’m going to have to invoke the magic of medical science to cure this alleged cat allergy before we start the garden and the compost system.
So, here I am trying to think of how to spin this scenario as I survey the yard and scope the garden plot, when suddenly, I’m being swarmed by the yellow jackets that have made a nest in the crawl space under our house. So now I look like some kind of crazy lady sitting on my front porch, telling my kids I’m allergic to cats, swatting at yellow jackets with my flip flop, and smelling like … well … we’ve covered that already.
Note to self: Choose the lies you tell your children carefully. Karma’s a sticky, wet toilet seat just waiting to happen to you, too!