Friday, March 9, 2012


OK, so I had a totally different idea for this post.  And I'm bummed because I needed to take a picture of something, and now I can't find it to take a picture of it.  And this first picture was just going to be, like, a little bitty blurb, but now I have to turn it into a whole post.  So wish me luck, right?

This morning was crazy because we had someone coming to our house for an appointment, and Joshua and Jamey both slept late, so neither of them were dressed when the dude showed up.  And that's really not all that important, but of course, because I am now having to turn a blurb into a whole post I'm filling up space with insignificant verbiage.  Deal with it.

And so I ran to the dryer because, of course, I couldn't find any pants for Joshua to wear.  So see?  It's at least a little significant.  Anyway, I run to the dryer, open it up and scream my head off.  Because THIS is what I see when I open the dryer door:

Holy CRAP, right?!?!?!?!

And I'm not saying, "Holy crap look at that dirty rag there".  It is clean.  I scrubbed my floors with tea.  But that's another story. . .and so of course I'm not saying holy crap to the rag,  It was the GIANT ANT!!!!  

And then before I could bolt out of the house yelling hysterically and it all coming out almost incoherently to anyone listening (which, let's be honest here, that would probably be, um, NO ONE...) about how we are moving right this very moment because our house is being taken over by giant ants, I remembered that the giant ant is, of course, plastic.  And that I had Mr. Ant in my back pocket last week when I did music at the preschool and the "friend" I brought to do music with me was an anteater named "Artie the Anteater" and I wanted to give "Artie" a snack, and what better to give him then a giant plastic ant?

And so all that to really just say a giant WHEW.  IT'S FAKE.  We can live in our house still.

This brings me to the whole point of this ridiculous post.  I scare myself all the time.  I don't know why.  But I do.  I will be in the house, and I know that other people live here too (including all the other voices in my head, but again, that's a post for another time), and one of them comes walking in, and I jump and give a little scream.  You know.  Because I'm sure my little boy is a thief about to steal our valuables.  Oh wait.  We have no valuables.  So see?  There really is no reason to be scared.  But I usually am.

One other example is when I was in the regular working world and I worked from one of those totally depressing lovely cubicles (why DO they only come in "ugly beige" or, even better the "oh my goodness I want to kill myself blue" color???).  Keeping in mind that these cubicles are TOTALLY OUT IN THE OPEN, and you can hear anyone coming, I would constantly hear someone coming around the corner, and guess what happened?  Uh huh.  Scare myself to death.  It's a wonder I haven't had a heart attack.  One guy would even warn me. He'd start talking and say, "Hey Carolyn, it's just me Tom,"  and then like Pavlov's dogs, he'd come into view at the entrance of my cubicle, and I'd get startled and gasp and complain that he'd scared me.  

I think there must be a solution to this.  I know what some people would say.  In a word?  Xanax.  

Husband?  He'd probably say, "Commit her".

Joshua?  He'd say, "Mommy, you're weird."

Quincy, our disgusting slobbery vile mongrel?  He'd say, "Who's Quincy?"

Does anybody else do this, or is it just me?  Um.  Don't answer that.

Happy Day, folks!