New Ad Campaign or Game Show?

“There’s just no getting around it. It’s like a big wheel of poo.” (Me describing the inner workings of the Litter Locker.) I think I might have hit on their new slogan. Or a really gross game show.


Since my teens, I have had a touch of OCD. Well, maybe more than a touch, but fortunately, not the level of Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets. I am able to control it when I want to (while going crazy inside 😉 ), but only to a certain extent.

It started in high school and escalated during my super-neurotic, overachiever state in college. I had to check all of the door locks every night in a certain order. Luckily, we had a small apartment with only two doors, which were in the same room. I hadn’t yet progressed to checking windows and the stove and oven yet. However, I spent an inordinate amount of time checking those two doors. No matter how long I stared I could not convince myself that the damn doors were as locked as they were going to get. Finally, I would convince myself that I could believe my eyes (I’m not really sure how long that took, but it was about the same amount of time every night.) and go to bed.

This continued even after I moved into an apartment of my own with chains and security bars on the door. (Hey, I lived in a college town. Those are candy stores for predators. I’d already caught a Peeping Tom at my bathroom window.) By then, I had started checking the windows. (Yes, Dad, this is what happens when you tell your children too many stories about how every stranger they see is a potential kidnapper. How even the seemingly harmless older couple across the street could be kidnappers and you should never, ever even make eye contact with anyone you don’t know, because you might disappear forever and meet some horrible fate.)

Now that I am living in a house with my husband and child, my routine runs a bit more smoothly. I do check everything, but I only do it once (most of the time). However, I have added a few weird things. For instance, I always check my husband’s deodorant bottle and container of hair product every morning to make sure he has put the lids back on properly. (I don’t want the cats getting in and eating any of that stuff.) However, I am also a multi-tasking mommy these days. I attempted to check the deodorant a couple of mornings ago while also brushing my teeth and moving my compact. (All after about a month of not really sleeping.) Of course, on that one morning, the lid wasn’t on all the way. The deodorant fell, knocking the compact on to the floor, causing me to take both the Lord’s and his Son’s names very much in vain. Blasphemously in vain. Noting that my prayers might get through faster if I would stop insulting two out of the Big Three, I apologized and prayed that my son hadn’t woken up. He hadn’t. Thank God. (And I say that respectfully.)

You’d think I would have learned my lesson from that incident. Oh, no. Yesterday (Again while Max was napping. I get in to so much mischief when he naps.), I just had to make sure the top was securely on the Tupperware container containing the previous night’s brisket, which was now my lunch. I tested it once. Not good enough. Twice. Still not good enough. A third time. The top flies off and the bowl skitters toward the microwave. I meekly replace the lid and put it in the fridge. No more checking. No more blaspheming. My son stayed asleep. I guess I am learning to let go of my fears and neuroses after all. A few more accidents should cure me completely.

Angus and his Magnificent Tail

My cat Angus is a Maine Coon mix. I am not sure what else is in the mix, but Maine Coon is definitely a large part of his genetic makeup. A characteristic of the Maine Coon is a fluffy tail. Angus’s tail is beyond fluffy. It is Magnificent, Resplendent, and alas, Destructive. Unfortunately, the owner of said tail has no idea of its powers. I have seen this tail clear whole coffee tables with a single swish. I have seen it knock soda cans off of their precarious perch next to our brimming recycling baskets and scare the tail’s owner half to death. He has no idea that HE knocked over the cans, poor skittish darling.

If you are in need of further proof of this tail’s amazing powers, simply consider this quote from a morning last week. I swear this is an actual quote of words that came out of my mouth, “Angus, get your tail out of Mommy’s underwear.” Now see if you can guess what amazing hijinks the tail and its unconscious possessor have been up to now. I will give you one hint. Angus, his tail, and I were in the bathroom.

I am so tired of …

tripping over cats and shoes. At least I don’t feel guilty when I trip over the shoes, though. No one cares when they inadvertently kick shoes, even if it is the shoes’ fault, since they have a better view of everything and could ostensibly avoid my feet.

Strange phenomenon

That I went around the house singing “Rawr” for a good thirty seconds this morning for no particular reason. It wasn’t entertaining the baby or the cats. I just felt like it.

Actual quote from this morning

“Fort, get your butt out of Mommy’s coffee. FORT. BUTT. OUT. OF. THE. COFFEE!!!”

(I actually meant to say “butt AWAY from the coffee,” but in this case, Mommy brain speak made the line funnier.)

Way more than nine lives

My cat Fort was a dumpster diver in his previous life. That’s the only way to account for his survival. He must have been a fair hunter, too. He survived fights with wild animals, rain, and freezing temperatures, not to mention another “owner” (I use that term very loosely.) who booted him out before we took him in. That explains why he attacks our food whenever our backs are turned. Doesn’t matter what it is. He ate my chocolate ice cream when I had my wisdom teeth out with as much enthusiasm as he licked my Lean Cuisine tray clean yesterday. However, none of that explains his fascination with beauty products. He eats soap, chases me around trying to rub against, bite, and lick my legs when I apply lotion, and he cornered me on the bed when I was applying aromatherapy oil the other night. You’d think he’d have more common sense after surviving on the streets alone, right? How did he survive when he thinks it’s okay to eat soap??

Sign that we are becoming accustomed to being parents

We have stopped saying “the vet” when we mean “the pediatrician.”

Kitty/baby exploit of the day

Daddy volunteers to burp baby to give Mommy a break during breast-feeding. Baby has poop explosion all over sleepsack and Daddy’s only pair of clean jeans. Upon carrying baby in to the nursery, Daddy finds Fort sitting on the changing table for the first time.  Mommy is called in to perform a Fort removal. Pantless Daddy discovers Diaper Champ is full. Mommy is called upon to remove trash bag of diapers and replace it with new trash bag. Mommy is going to wear a tarp over her jeans during the second half of breast-feeding as she, too, only has one “clean” pair.

Kitty exploit of last week

Heading back in to the kitchen to finish unloading the dishwasher and seeing Fortinbras’s head pop out right before he leaps from among my clean dishes. Not quite as good as when he jumped in to the fridge and Chris (Now my husband, then my boyfriend.) came in just in time to see Fort’s butt sticking out of the second shelf while I vainly tugged on his waist to remove him. But close.

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