Monday, November 26, 2012

This smells like...

Chris has been working a lot of handyman jobs lately.  Sometimes he can squeeze in three or four different homes in a week.  At dinner last night he said, "All homes have a smell.  It's not always bad, but they all have a smell.  Obviously the homeowners can't smell their own home and it got me thinking... What do you think our house smells like?"

I smiled, "Hon, I spent a lot of high school and early college years babysitting.  Every house with a diapered child smells exactly the same.  Clean, dirty, doesn't matter.  They always smell the same.  I bet our house smells like that."

Confused, he asked, "What does it smell like?"

I set my fork down gingerly and said as gently as possible...

"Poop honey.  Our house probably smells like poop."

I have a feeling Chris will refrain from inviting folks over until Cash is potty trained.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Black Friday...

It's 7 am Thanksgiving morning and a newspaper is purchased at 7-11.

Each ad is carefully reviewed and sorted into one of three piles - Must go, If there's time, or Not interested.

Highlighters, paperclips, and post-it notes are used to mark items of importance.

Gift cards saved over the last year are placed near the corresponding ad.  $20 bills sit near the gift cards, specifically designated to each store.

There's one last look right before bed.  A quick review to make sure not a single thing is missed.

4:30 am on Black Friday, the alarm sounds... Chris hops out of bed, excitedly dresses, and heads out for his day of shopping.

What?  You thought it was me?  I hate the mall.  I hate shopping.  I hate crowds.

Chris came home about 4 hours later.  His car was so full, he had to take 6 or 7 trips to empty it.  I can't complain.  He saves all year for Black Friday.

He and Cash have been playing with the new tools all morning.

Nope.  Can't complain at all.

It's actually kinda cute....

just don't tell him I said that.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Disaster Preparedness...

Chris decided to go watch the Chargers play at the stadium last night.  Cash and I drove through McDonalds, sharing a hamburger, and had just snuggled up to a carton of frozen yogurt when the lights went out.

Every power source in the house whined as it slowly shut off.  Sounds straight out of a horror film.

I wrapped one arm around the midget and crawled around the living room, searching for my phone to use as a light source.  I used the phone to find a flashlight and went outside to see if it was just me, or if the whole block was out.  My heart sank as I watched three neighbors get into their cars and leave, running from the darkness.

Did the radio warn everyone about a zombie apocalypse and I missed it because I was too busy enjoying yogurt and Judge Judy?!?

The problem is, I'm the PERFECT candidate for a zombie meal!  I haven't worked out since the kidlet was born and my legs likely have a perfect marbling of fat.  I'd be particularly delicious in a stew.

Cash and I sat on the floor near the front door, systematically shining the flashlight in the front yard, then to the back door, as if it would protect me like a light saber.

I Google researched the weaponry necessary to defeat zombies but got bored and went on Pinterest instead.

Two hours into the outage, Cash had fallen asleep on my lap and I had turned off the flashlight and rested my head against the door, staring into the blackness outside.  A huge utility truck pulled in front of our house and a crew of four large men silently climbed my retaining wall and into my yard.  This wouldn't be weird except... we have stairs.  Not one of them used them.  They chose to awkwardly climb the wall... like ZOMBIES.

I stopped breathing, wishing I had put a little more effort into the weaponry research.

Just as I was carefully moving Cash from my lap to the floor so I could grab the chainsaw from the garage, or at the very least, a cleaver from the drawer, the crew was climbing back down the wall and driving off in the truck.

It's been a rough week and well... I haven't showered for a few days.  My face resembles a pubescent teenager and my hair is stringier than a straw broom.  I've been sporting the same pajamas for a week.  In short, I smell.  I can only assume one thing...

they assumed I was already one of them.

I knew it.  I just knew it.

Laziness and procrastination eventually pay off.