Should I Be Worried?

Graham has decided that this is a good time to bring up his dissatisfaction with my hair. THIS, a time when there is clearly nothing else going on; nothing else to be concerned about. He's all: "So... umm... is there anything you can do about that frizz?" And I'm all "well, I could bludgeon you with the blunt end of a pigeon... that would probably fix the problem."

And, you know, maybe I haven't taken the best care of myself since giving-birth-and-getting-my-masters-and-moving-and-changing-careers-and-finding-a-house. Gee golly gosh wizzo, I WONDER WHY?! Also, that's the price you pay for marrying someone who only showers 3 times a week and spends $10 annually on makeup. But we are never late because of me, are we?

But then... then I go to give Evie a bath the other day and I find THIS:

Tell me, Mr. Scobey, husband of four years and father to my daughter, what need have you for PHEROMONES? Is my hair sooooooo unattractively frizzy that you have the need to put yourself back on the market? IS IT?!?

I wikipediad that shizz and you know what I found? Pheromones: "chemicals capable of acting outside the body of the secreting individual to impact the behavior of the receiving individual"

DOES OUR LOVE AND THE WAY I ASK YOU TO ROLL OVER WHEN YOU SNORE MEAN NOTHING TO YOU ANYMORE?

I hope you attract a female. A female WILD BOAR.

And now I bet we are all up on Child Service's radar for bathing our 10-month-old in lady chemicals (or near them. same thing basically.) And when they come knocking on our door I am SO throwing you under the bus, Cracker. Be forewarned.

But then I found this.

So maybe he isn't looking for another woman. It's just that our marriage is boring. Phew. I FEEL SO MUCH BETTER NOW!

**graham really didn't want me to post this. so, you know... I did. love you honey.**

Mission: Sanitization

I have a problem that I feel ready to admit to. Ready; and willing to seek out the appropriate avenues of help if necessary.

I probably go through an entire family-sized container of these babies a week... Seriously. The way I scrub my kitchen on a nightly basis you would think that I was taking precautions against an army of Turd People whose only mode of transportation was to roll around on my counter-tops. And you know what? I'm not sorry. Granted, I may be singing a different tune on the day that I wake up to the first four layers of my epidermis PEELING off... but for now you'll get no apologies from me.

Donations to the ScobeyLysolWipe Fund can be made directly to me. Do your part, people. Do. Your. Part.

Boogie Nights (and mornings... and days...)

Evie has her first cold... and its a doozie. Now, before you go feeling all sorry for me and sending me chocolate (my favorite is hazelnut flavored) and flowers (gerber daisies, please) I should admit to you that there is a bright side to the situation. Remember back when I admitted my nose picking habit? Well, turns out that the joy I get from digging for my own gold TOTALLY translates to picking my kid's nose, too.

It's like a game: the deeper they are in there, the more points you get... plus special bonus awards for size and color. Give me one of those squeezy-bulbs over a video controller any day, thank you.

Little-bit is no child of mine. I mean, she looooovves her baths. She just might be the cleanest newborn on the planet (side note: that may be the last time I get to refer to her as a "newborn" on the blog... since, as of Wednesday, my big THREE-MONTH-OLD will officially be considered a full blown infant. Just rip my heart out and put it through a meat-grinder, why don't you?! This growing-up-too-fast crap is way hard.)

There she is, that little Benedict Arnold... just lovin' that bath. I will do my best to change that. I can just see Evie and me in ten years, sitting on the couch all sweaty from a family run (we will not take a shower for at least 48 hours afterward) picking our noses and letting the dog lick our faces. Ahh... bliss.

Hygiene Smygiene

I cannot say for sure why this topic has come up so many times lately...perhaps the cosmos (or the poor, poor people within smelling distance of me) are trying to tell me something. Apparently I have poor hygiene.

Last week I was on Facebook when I saw that a friend of mine was horrified to find out that her husband had inadvertently used her toothbrush. When I read this two things happened to me: First, I realized that not everyone shares toothbrushes with their significant others (which I totally do...especially when we go on trips...because I am OCD about packing light and YES IT REALLY DOES MAKE THAT MUCH OF A DIFFERENCE!). Second, I solidified my place as least-hygiene-conscious-individual-in-the-universe. Seriously. I am totally throwing myself under the bus here, I'm sure, but I did not even fully realize that these things were not completely normal.

I mean really. I wipe my boogers on my husband...and he gladly reciprocates. I am a lifelong nose-picker, but I try not to do it in public. I take 3 showers a week (that's one every 2-3 days, for you math lovers out there) and it seems to do me just fine. At times my leg hair has rivaled even the most gruesome of yeti creatures. I don't really have a problem with eating things off of "unclean" surfaces. And the number of times my dog has accidentally (read: completely on purpose because he is a MOLESTER) french kissed me would probably make some of you throw up a little.

Whew...that feels much better...do I have any fellow hygiene haters out there?

I am sort of a neat-freak, though...does that make up for all of the above nastiness? No? Oh, OK...just thought I would ask.