You know, now that I think about it…

One of the greatest things about being a new parent to a baby is that you can dress them in whatever you want and they don’t get a say in the matter.

Most of the great stuff I’ve collected to dress her in she’s not big enough for, yet, so we pretty much stick to the exact same type of outfit for her while she’s small and it’s cold outside: the all in one footed pajama.

You find when you bring that first baby home that you end up preferring some types of clothing over others. We ended up not wanting to deal with socks and pants on a newborn, and snaps take a backseat to the zipper. What can I say, the girl has two parents who pretty much wear the same uniform everyday (t-shirt, jeans) – tights and bows and bloomers and whatnots just weren’t in the cards for her.

I bought a ton of onesies and pants and “outfits” at a consignment sale in August – before I knew we would prefer the easy, all-in-one, albeit extremely informal “footie pajamas at all times, bitches” style we chose for our daughter.

I believe I had bought a whopping ONE of these pjs we ended up preferring at the low low prices of the consignment sale, so, we’ve thrown a lot of money at Target buying these zippered footed onesies, while all these other great outfits I got for like two dollars remain unworn.

The other day, as I unzipped these pjs for the approximately 49,786th diaper change so far, it occurred to me that while adorable when being worn, as evidenced here:


It’s actually pretty messed up, because you are opening up the face of an innocent animal every time you unzip it, splitting it horribly in half. And, when you dress your baby in pretty much nothing but this specific kind of clothing:

Yeah, you all look happy now...
Yeah, you all look happy now…

It starts to seem excessively cruel.


But, I’m afraid until the weather warms up and we can move one to other brands and types of clothing, the slaughter must continue.

I was a child of the 1980s (commercialism).

I was over at Studio30 Plus looking at their writing prompts, and one was “share a favorite childhood memory.” I thought to myself, “I had a childhood! I have memories! I can do this!”

So, I decided to flip through my childhood photo albums for inspiration and to maybe jog my weird memory organ (brain) into remembering something that would make for an interesting post. You know, a great story about how a day with my grandpa fishing at the lake taught me a lesson about always looking both ways before you cross the street. Something fun and relatable and narrative-y.

No. What happened was I flipped through the photo albums, soaking in the 1980s goodness, and forgot about that special memory I was supposed to be pulling from them. In and of itself, basking in the neon glow of the 1980s is in fact a favorite childhood memory. So, come with me on a journey through the Me Decade by looking at pictures of, well, me.

I was born in 1977, so the ages of 3-13, the real meaty part of childhood, were all in the 80s. And, you can tell. I’m not sure I could be more of an 80s kid:

This is my fourth birthday party. It was Super Friends-themed. I still have a great fondness for the Super Friends but in a more sarcastic smart ass way than when I was a kid. I adored Wonder Woman. You can see the cake back there on the table.

There’s several pictures of me opening gifts at this birthday party, all 80s-licious. This one is my favorite – here’s me with some Star Wars underoos. Underoos were the best.

Here I am opening my stocking on Christmas. I’ve just pulled out a Hot Wheels General Lee from The Dukes of Hazzard. I LOVED The Dukes of Hazzard. My mom plays dumb these days and claims she doesn’t remember me ever watching the show. My mom is not senile, so she’s lying. Mom, you’re a liar! I watched it every week and you know it. P.S. I had no idea about the Confederate flag back then. I kinda had to un-learn that it was a decoration on the top of the Duke boys’ car. I almost want to say that it’s too bad that The Dukes of Hazzard is sullied by the inclusion of the Confederate flag in the series, but that’s implying that it otherwise would be some kind of masterpiece. I’m getting way off topic now. Moving on.

Up through age four, I really loved a variety of things. Then, I became more lame and embraced more girly stuff that I was supposed to. I mean, not that I didn’t love stuff like Strawberry Shortcake, because I did, because hello? look at that birthday cake, but I look back on this stuff and think it’s funny that I liked so much “girl stuff” considering I have really never been and am not “girly.” Having said that, I was all about Strawberry Shortcake for a year or two.

Then, it was Care Bears. Good God I loved Care Bears. I think it has a lot to do with categorization – this bear is this color, has this on it’s tummy, and represents this “thing.” So easy! I also have a real “collect them all” problem, too, and Care Bears is custom built for that weakness. My sister is the cutie on the right.

Rainbow Brite, yo. I don’t have much to say about Rainbow Brite, I just wanted to show this picture because I think my sister’s expression is funny. My theory is that she’s making that face because that’s actually HER Rainbow Brite doll I’m holding up for a picture (this was later confirmed by my sister).

Last but not least, here’s one of my most favorite possessions of all time. My Walkman. An introvert’s best friend. So. many. tapes. Tapes and tapes and tapes. Mix tapes, storybook tapes (at the sound of the tone, turn the page), pop music, oh it was just the best. And I probably ruined my hearing with it. Worth it.

What were your favorite possessions from childhood?


Product Review: My Keys

We’ve all been there: you arrive at a door and it won’t open. You turn the knob again and again to no avail. You look for a rock to break the window, and we all know – there either isn’t one or you’re covered in your own blood by the time you get into the house. What if I told you you could leave those days behind?

It turns out that most of those doors that don’t open are “locked.” “Locking” is a way to make it so that things won’t open and only a person that has a rock can get in. After a recent arrest and trip to the ER for stitches, a friend of mine suggested I use my keys to get into my car and house. She told me she uses her keys to unlock the things that she owns and it works for her every time.

I was skeptical at first. Just like everyone else, I get so used to the way things are and I’m suspicious of promises that a new product will make life so much easier. For every sliced bread there’s a sliced piano – useless and not worth my time. But, let me tell you – my keys are the real deal.

They come in all shapes and sizes.

I was worried about the expense. My husband and I are trying to save money, so when I asked him if we could afford a set of keys for me, I was relieved when he sweetly called me “moron” (his pet name for me), reached into my purse, and pulled out a set of keys. I couldn’t wait to try them out! I ran around from door to door, stabbing at the knobs, yelling at the doors “I have a key, I have a key!” It turns out there’s a little more to keys than that! Here’s some things I learned about keys, hopefully they’ll help you get the hang of if faster than I did:

  • You need to have a key for each specific lock. If you don’t have a key for something you want to get into (you don’t own the thing that’s locked, or you forgot your keys, for example), you will still need a rock or crowbar.
  • If you want to keep your all keys in one place (apparently it’s not safe to leave them hanging from the outside doorknob), you can get what’s called a “keyring.”
  • You can get fun accessories like the one I have. I’m told he’s a little Italian plumber. I think he’s like the patron saint of keys because plumbers are like keys because when your drains are clogged (door), the plumber (key), clears it out (opening the locked door).
  • If you want more of a key you already have, you can take it to a local hardware store and the black magic wizard they have staffed there will sacrifice a goat and conjure another one for you (I think that’s how it happened, I was busy browsing something called “paint” that you can put on your walls and make them a different color).
  • The “lock” is a kind of long, thin hole. You take the key and hold the thicker upper part and then stick the skinnier part in the hole. Then, and here’s the important part – you need to turn the key so that the lock becomes “unlocked.” That then allows you to open the thing you just used the key on. Fun tip: after you’re inside your house, you can use that same key (I know – SO convenient!) to then lock the door behind you so that it makes it harder for people to enter your home and murder you.

I know I’m just discovering all the things keys can do, but overall I have to say – they are definitely worth it. They have saved me time, money, and blood. I can’t recommend them more enthusiastically.

I was not paid for this endorsement. I strongly believe in the product and have written this review without compensation.

What a Discovery

I used to occasionally watch a show called If Walls Could Talk on HGTV a while back. Basically, it showed people talking about the amazing treasures and historical artifacts they found in their fancy old homes. The camera would follow people up and down creaky old stairs while they explained how they discovered this or that. Examples (paraphrased and possibly made-up):

  • “I was in the attic trying to escape from my family’s oppressive neediness and while I was rocking back and forth in the corner, I noticed a loose floorboard and lo and behold, there was a first edition of The Wizard of Oz under it.”
  • “I was burying my mistress, I mean, some jars of pennies in my crawlspace when my shovel hit something hard. Turns out, it was an old tin box with a perfectly preserved Civil War-era flag in it. I’m lucky to be so homicidal, I mean, thrifty.”
  • “I was having a good wank in my ‘jack-off shack,’ which is the hall coat closet, and it finally dawned on me, this trunk that I always sit on in here while I look at Hustler didn’t belong to us. So I looked inside, and it was a whole bunch of stuff that used to belong to Chester A. Arthur!”

You know, things like that.

Well, I had my own If Walls Could Talk moment this week. As you may know, we’re currently staying with my mom while we try and figure out what we want to do while our still not bought house is not bought. Our cat is currently staying in the large room over the garage, which for the last 25 years has been called “The New Room” since its addition in the late 1980s.

In the early 2000s, my sister lived up in The New Room while she attended college. The New Room has a bathroom with a small closet. I’m currently using this small closet (which also houses Kenbie and all his/her friends) to store the cat’s food. Well, and here’s my moment:

  • “I was yelling at my cat to for the love of God shut the hell up and getting out his food to hopefully appease him, when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, taped to the inside wall of the closet, this:”

Y’all, it’s just like finding the diary of a Union soldier that shows great bravery in the face of turmoil, except it’s about not mixing up your shit and shower sponges and I see the person who made it multiple times a week. Still, it’s so amazing to have such a historical glimpse into the house’s past.

Have you ever found anything interesting in your house? I know it will be hard to top the sponge color code but I’d still love to hear about it.

How Moving and Cat Poop are Related

We officially no longer live in our house. But, it’s still our house, which means we still have a mortgage. While our renters wait for their house to sell, and while they decide if they want to buy our house, we don’t have an official home. We’re staying with my mom while we wait for everything to straighten itself out. My mom is generous to have us and while I don’t mind being home-home, you still don’t want to be in your mid-thirties and living with your mom even though it makes the most sense and reduces the amount of times we have to move our stuff. I just don’t want to hate my stuff more than I already do.

I think one of the reasons cats have such a holier-than-thou attitude is because they've seen the way dogs react to their poop.

What does this have to do with cat poop? When you have cats AND dogs, you have to spend a surprising amount of time trying to figure out how to “protect” cat poop. If you have cats and dogs, you also probably know the term for cat poop that is used to describe a dog’s maddening love of it – Tootsie Rolls.

Every time you move with your dogs and cats you have to re-figure out how to keep those precious tootsie rolls from constant threat. I think it’s one of life’s strangest predicaments. For us, the solution usually involves a closet and a baby gate.

When we move, I forget about this predicament because we did a really good job of solving the problem in our previous abode, like when people let their guards down during times of peace. Of course, it’s only a matter of time (that amount of time is easily measurable – it is the exact amount of time it takes for the cat to take his first shit in the new house) before I’m reminded that a fortress must be built around the Kingdom of Litter.

Our dog Ed is a turd connoisseur. I think he was feral at some point, which probably started his terrible hunger for poo, as it may have been his available meals. If Pizza Hut sold a Turd Lover’s Pizza, he’d eat it every day. His favorite soup would be turdle soup. He’d be disappointed by a pu pu platter. We don’t let him pick what he has for dinner, is what I’m saying.

He has the well-earned nickname “Turd Burglar.” He’ll burgle turds at every opportunity. Turds tremble in fear when they sense he is near. Seriously, the dude loves turds. That’s why, when Tom wanted to practice on his new photo editing program, he chose to create this:

You may be a world-class turd burglar, Ed, but this time the local tootsie rolls will only have folklore legends to pass down from generation to generation. “Hair as orange as John Boehner’s skin and a collar as green as grass, and he’d just as soon eat you as look at you.”

Rest easy, sweet turds, you’re safe for now. Turds in the backyard, I’m afraid you’re on your own.

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Adding this post to the Yeah Write weekly challenge. I had a lot of fun last week reading new blogs. You can lurk, hangout, or enter a post in the weekly challenge, then vote for your 5 favorites. Go check it out.