wordless wednesday - big yawn

(thanks Kar!)

chicken pox. or is it?

The last time my kids went in the hot tub, two of them got the CHICKEN POX.  

Or so my Pediatrician suspected. 

And I was shocked.  Shocked because both of them had the varicella vaccinations as scheduled, and I kinda thought it would actually prevent them from getting chicken pox. 

So anyway, we were at my sister's in CT and the kids spent their time going from the hot tub to the pool to the hot tub all weekend, and they were having a great old time.  We went home, and everything seemed normal, but then Alex turned up with this rash, all over his belly, and it was spreading.  So I checked the other kids, because I was like, what is this?  And Meg had it too.  I was thinking about what they ate, what they did - trying to figure out why they were having a reaction and what it was related to.  It never once crossed my mind that it could be chicken pox.

So I brought them to the doc because it was irritating, and they were uncomfortable.  And they made us come in through a back door and then SEQUESTERED us in the basement!!  Really, they did!  Because obviously if it was a highly contagious rash, they didn't want to infect any other patients.  I thought they might want to have a better plan in place for such a thing, but who am I to complain.

After a short wait, the Dr. came down and examined them and said they had the freaking chicken pox, and I was like, what?!  Then I felt nervous.  I have never had them, and I know it can be dangerous to adults.  The doctor proceeded to write a note to get the kids out of school for a week, she gave me paperwork on it, and sent me on my merry way.

Ugh.

Of course I called my sisters to tell them, because our kids were together all week, and when I mentioned it to my sister Jen (who is an RN), she said, "I bet it's the hot tub rash, Julian has it too."  I had never heard of it, so I googled it (what else is new?) and sure enough, it looked exactly like the pictures I saw.  Jenney told me that apparently it is easy to make the mistake, because the rashes do look very similar.  Jen was beside herself because she has a pool/hot tub guy that is supposed to make sure everything is maintained properly, and clearly he didn't do his job.  (Jenney has a guy for everything - mowing, shoveling, plowing, pool  maintenance, etc.  I wish I had a guy.)

And to bring this long-winded story to a close, I self diagnosed my kids with the hot tub rash (real name: foliculitis), they cleared up on their own in a few days and Jen drained her hot tub and had it thoroughly cleaned and disinfected.  When I called the doc to suggest the hot tub rash, she wouldn't concur (I love that word), and I know it's because she didn't want to admit she misdiagnosed them.

That's OK though.  I still love her, and besides, I know I was right.

I was reading Jana, from the meanestmom blog, and her post reminded me of this incident. (disclaimer: I am in no way stealing her idea so I can get more readers. Or am I?)

"what up with the gigantic pants?"

...to quote Sam from iCarly.  (don't I just reek of 3 kids under 12, home for summer vacation?)

So I have bad news and good news.  The bad news is, my pants are falling off.  And the good news is... my pants are falling off!

Here is why this is a good thing:  Because I am a fatso and I have needed to lighten up for far too long, and now, finally, the numbers on the scale are creeping down.  Yeehaw!

Here is why this is a bad thing:  Because now I have nothing to wear.  And my being nude, or pantsless for that matter, would scare the skinny teen-agers in the neighborhood.  And possibly scar them for life.  On a good note, getting a good look at the road map of stretch marks that cover me from boob to thigh may actually deter them from premarital sex.  Because everyone knows that with babies come stretch marks.

So, anyway, I guess I need to go buy some new pants.

Saturday Shout Out - The Pioneer Woman

My blog favorites would NEVER be complete without Ree Drummond, aka The Pioneer Woman.  Check out her "Love Story," it might make you want to find a cowboy of your very own.  And the recipes, oh the recipes...  And the photography.  I adore the photography. 

Go ahead, click the link.  I promise you won't be disappointed.

http://thepioneerwoman.com/

boxers or briefs and an unanswered question.

My one unanswered question is this.
Why do tighty-whities have a little pocket in the front of them??  I believe they are incredibly nonfunctional.  Is that even a word?

Really, I have been trying to answer this question for many years, and I just can't seem to come to a great conclusion.  It happens to be a question that I have posed to several people, and the general consensus is that if the man doesn't want to pull his underpants down the whole way he can just go through the little peephole pocket thing.

Really?? 

I mean, why wouldn't a guy pull down his underpants all of the way?  I'm not talking to the floor, but, you know, down the way enough to be comfortable.  Wouldn't it take more effort and maneuvering to get your business through the peephole?  I mean, the angle of the pocket is all skewed and stuff.  I guess I can understand it on boxers, because they are looser fitting than briefs, but, who came up with that dumb design anyway??  I mean, why even give them that option in the first place?

I think it could be a good place to carry loose change if you have no other pockets.  Maybe I should write to the manufacturers about it.

Birthday Girl

Happy, Happy Birthday to my beautiful, smart, sensitive, compassionate, funny, mischievous reading-machine,  Megan Catherine.  Nine years ago today you were born at 2:55 pm with a full head of dark hair... crying and crying because you weren't quite ready to come out of the cooker yet.

You make me smile every single day.  I love you!

what i got

Before I was married, I had that mental checklist, you know, the one where the guy you were supposed to marry had to have all of those specific qualities.  Wait, you didn't have that list?


Well anyway, part of my list (besides the obvious: has to like me, have a job, want kids, wear good shoes, have clean fingernails and nice teeth, etc) went like this:


1.  Has to love music.  Has to have cool music tastes.  Has to play the piano or another cool instrument.

2.  Has to own and ride a cool motorcycle, or want to own and ride a cool motorcycle.  Preferably a Harley.  A loud one.
(--I do recognize that I need a new adjective for a word that means the same as cool)

3.  Has to be a military man, a Marine is perfect.  Who doesn't love a guy with a high and tight in dress blues??

4.  Has to be creative, artists are definitely good.

5.  Has to love reading and books.

6.  Has to be taller than me, with dark hair, and I was a sucker for brown-eyed boys.


I never did meet a guy with all of those qualities.  In fact, hardly any guys I dated had even two of those qualities, and I always seemed to have a decent amount of guys to date.  My sisters were always trying to fix me up.  I guess I went through a phase after a rough breakup, where I was sure I was never going to meet the right person.  It was really hard actually.  I was sad and lonely for a long time.  But not sad and lonely enough to go on a second date with that window salesman Tyrone set me up with, ugh, or that jerky Trooper.  What a loser. 


ANYWAY, (boy my stories sure seem to go off in their own direction sometimes, don't they?), having a mental checklist really was a crazy, young-kid way of thinking.  When all is said and done, and you grow up a little and throw away the immature parts of the mental checklist, the most important things really and truly are that you have to have chemistry, you have to have trust and faith and laughter and really, you have to genuinely like the person you are with.  Like, you just know they are good and decent human beings, and you fit.


That's what I got, when I least expected it.  I got lucky.  And my boy doesn't play a musical instrument, but he sings with gusto, even if he doesn't know the words and he is sooooo off key.  And he doesn't own or ever want to own a motorcycle, because he knows it would upset his Grandmother, and I totally get that.  And he is so not a military man, but he has his own version of a high and tight, and wears a handsome suit pretty much every day.  Artistic, creative and a lover of books - he is not, but he draws a mean stick figure, is creative in the garden and he reads the news every day.  And he's smart and a good conversationalist either way.  He's not taller than me, we see eye to eye, actually, and I am glad, because he has nice BLUE eyes that are kind and mischievous and loving.

He also gets me, and he accepts me and he is faithful and he knows how to make me laugh, especially when I am mad.  He's a great dad and a great husband and he works so hard every single day.  He's the only one I want to share stuff with, and the only one I want to hug me when I cry.  He is what I got. And I am really, truly thankful. 

Father's Day

Every time I look at this picture, it makes me think of my boy, and how much he has given me, and how grateful I am to have him in my life.  How grateful I feel because our kids have him for a Dad.

Saturday Shout Out - The Meanest Mom

This is a favorite blog that is just funny, and real and makes me laugh on a daily basis.

Anyone with four kids (or less, or more even) would totally get it.  Let's just say any Mom with a sense of humor would totally get it.

http://themeanestmom.blogspot.com/

grown up names

I called my cousin one day at work -- a long time ago actually, and I asked for Kathy.  I was told nobody by that name worked there, and I was like...hmmm.  Then I added her last name, and said "Are you sure Kathy Bruno doesn't work there? This is the number she gave me."

"Oh, do you mean Katherine?"

I was like... "I guess?"

Then when Kat (as I affectionately call her) got on the phone, I was like "What the heck was that all about?  Why do they call you Katherine??"  and she told me that was her adult name, and nobody at work even knew her as anything other than Katherine.  I guess it's more professional.  When she started interviewing for real jobs after she graduated, she just went with it.

Then it hit me.  We're grown ups now -- and I can't even remember when I started referring to myself as Jessica, instead of Jessee.  I say this like I am surprised, which is weird, since I am 40 now.  (Wow.  That's OLD!)  Only my old friends and family call me Jessee, any adult friends that I have made call me Jessica.  I never liked that, growing up.  I guess I don't mind it so much now.  I was Jessee since I was a baby.  I only tolerated one special boy calling me Jess - because for some reason it sounded right.

The name thing happened with a couple other people that I know, and I always thought it was funny.  My friend Merry is called Meredith, and my sister Ali goes by Allison. 

I don't care.  I can't go there -- it just doesn't work for me.  As far as I'm concerned, Kat, Merry and Ali will always be just that to me. 

I hope they don't mind.

Crazy Indulgence

I can't believe I am going to post this, because I KNOW if my sister's are reading, I will get harassed.  But here goes.

A few weeks ago, I stopped over at my friend Merry's house to see what she had done with the place, since she just bought it.  On a more accurate note, my sister Ali tricked me into coming over, with the line that I could check out what Merry had done with the place, because she knew if she said it was a little get-together I would never go.  Because the old social anxiety thing creeps up when I think there might be too many people there...

ANYWAY, I was TRICKED into going to Merry's, but when I got there, I ended up having a great time (as is usually the case).  A few friends were there, and the house looked great, and then Merry offered me a Mojito.  I don't drink really, hardly ever.  Usually, it's a sorry sight when I do, but for some reason, I went with it.  The first thing I noticed when I put the glass to my mouth wasn't the smell of the alcohol that rarely is that close to my nose, but the AMAZING feeling of the heavy glass that the drink was actually in.  I know, I know, I am weird like that.

So, the drink was good, I admit, but I wanted to smuggle the glass home to be my very special glass that I get to use without sharing.   I wanted that glass.  I coveted it.  So, I asked Merry where she got it.  If I didn't do that, I may very well have snuck it in my purse.  Not really, but only because I didn't have my purse with me.

So Merry said she got them as a wedding gift, but they were made by the company Simon Pearce.  So I thought, I will go home and order my OWN set of glasses, just because I liked them so much, and I don't usually buy myself anything.  So I went right home and googled Simon Pearce, and I found the site and I was so excited.  Then I started searching the site and I was not so excited.  Because EACH INDIVIDUAL glass was priced at $55.00.  Yes, 55 American dollars, you read it right.  So I didn't order them.  How could I??  Who buys a drinking glass for 55 bucks??  Even if it is hand blown and created by a Master Glassblowing Artisian.

But... it was eating at me.  For a few days I was crazy about those damn glasses.  The weight of them felt perfect in my hand.  I NEEDED one.  So I did the next best thing and searched eBay.  I have no problem buying a used glass if it meant that I could just have one of my very own.  And the exciting thing is, that I FOUND it!  I found a set of four that were new even.  And I bought them.

I BOUGHT THEM. 

And I am not going to tell you the price because it is embarrassing.  But I will confess that they were a good amount less than the price that was listed in the catalog.  And that's what made me decide to buy a whole set of four.  My glasses just came in the mail, and they are great!  I LOVE them!  And I am glad I bucked up because they make me happy every single day.

Really. 

 

wordless wednesday

somewhere in East Bump

Last weekend was my niece Kasey's graduation from High School.  Things were busy at home, soccer games, parties and the like, so just Kara and I drove over for the ceremony and reception.  We took Alex's car for a dumb reason.  The dumb reason was that I didn't want to pull up in a frumpy mini-van, and I can't help but feel like a sore thumb whenever I go to Choate.  It's an awesome school, but just so much extraordinary wealth, it's intimidating.  I am small town average Mom, not a fancy, live in a castle and have a private jet Mom.

So I took Alex's car.  The one with the annoying air conditioning problem.  Which wasn't what lead to the situation.  The situation of us getting so very lost in the middle of woodsy CT on the way home.  So very, very lost, I recognized nothing at all.  And it was raining BUCKETS.  I mean like literally, there were times when I actually couldn't see.

I have a portable navigator in my car, which I love because it makes me feel like no matter how long it takes, no matter how lost I am, I can always press HOME and it will bring me there.  So I brought it.  And I relied on it, and it lost its charge before we were in an area that I knew.  I couldn't charge it because Alex's car is dumb.  And doesn't charge things like other cars do.  But at least we looked cool when we pulled up!  Anyway, I'm no dummy (some may disagree, but lets not go there right now), and I have certainly made many a trip to visit my sister in CT -- she has lived there for over 12 years now.  I know how to get home from her house, but not from the school -- I really had no idea where I was going.  

So I tried using my blackberry, but in order to find directions we needed to know where we actually were.  Which we didn't. Pretty much all we knew was that we were in Connecticut.  In the middle of the woods, no stores, no gas stations, pretty much nothing.  A house or three scattered here and there, a babbling brook and lakes everywhere you turned,  pretty much what us small towners call "East Bump."   So we randomly drove til we saw a "Welcome to blahblahblah" sign, and input it in the blackberry. 

We thought the directions from the blackberry were dumb, so we forged on.  Finally we called my husband who tried to talk us back to a highway.  Yes, yes, eventually we made it back.  When I saw the familiar sign for the highway, I felt pretty relieved.  The rain cleared and the sky had some blue up there, and I was smiling.  I wanted to try to remember the names of some of the towns we passed through, because they were actually perfect, in an East Bump kinda way.

It was a fun, road-trippy adventure with just me and my 21-year-old kid.

And the graduation was perfect. 

Saturday Shout Out - Nie Nie

Woo-hoo! I am doing something new, because usually I don't get around to posting on the weekends.  It's just hard to find the time when everyone is kicking around together, plus I like to turn off the computer (did I just say that?) and focus on the fam as much as possible.  So (after this explanatory long-winded post) this new feature will be short and to the point.


Quick explanation: I am doing a Saturday Shout-Out, can't remember which blog I happened to see this feature on, but I thought it was a cool idea.  Basically, I am just going to post a link to one of the blogs that I read often, and there are a lot of them.  Maybe I will even post a brief reason why I am drawn to the particular blog.


The number one blog on my list is....

http://nieniedialogues.blogspot.com/

This is number one on my list for several reasons.  Stephanie Nielson's (nienie) blog is the first blog I ever followed.  I was mainly a blurker (Thanks Erin - good one!), and I read her because I was smack in the middle of a rough spot, and she seemed to have it all together, and with her four children she seemed to find joy in every area of her life.  At the time, I was feeling every little bump in the road, and feeling very imperfect.  It was after Brooke was born, and it was just hard to keep it all in perspective sometimes.  ANYWAY, reading Nienie always inspired me and made me stop, slow down and look for the joy that I knew was really there.  


A little while back, Stephanie and her husband were in a terrible plane crash.  They both suffered.  A lot.  And their friend, the pilot, died in the crash. After the accident, I became an official follower.  I felt like she was a [friend] almost, because I felt like I had gotten to know her by reading her words for so long, plus I also credited her for helping me get through that rough spot.  So anyway, Stephanie is still recovering, and still blogging, and still so very inspiring to me.  You should really check her out.

Pre-K Graduation

Today was Brooke's big day, Pre-School Graduation.  She was so excited to wear her dress, and I curled her hair a litle bit because that makes her feel fancy.  The ceremony was perfect.  It was held at a park in town, the kids all did a great job, singing songs, putting on skits and getting awards.

I am excited that Brooke is going to Kindergarten, because she so wants to be like the  big kids, but I am really going to miss next September, when the kids all go off to school with their spanking new school clothes on and their clean fresh lunch pails.  That is the day that is going to be really hard for me, waving goodbye to my baby.  oops, that just gave me a little tear in my eye.

Brooke and some friends

Alex, Brooke, Meg and Kara

Brooke and my parents

Brooke and her teacher, Miss Darci

TV and half-wits

I like my TV, but it isn't something that is like, all important to me.  Well, scratch that.  My shows that I love are really, really important to me, but a lot of times, I think I could handle quitting TV altogether.  Really.  I swear.

So I was never one of those people who's kids sat in front of the TV for hours and hours, just spacing out and stuff.  And I don't let them just have a free-for-all and watch whatever they want.  There are tons of things out there in TV-Land that are just not for little kids to be seeing/hearing.  I don't use my TV as a babysitter, for the most part.  I mean it helps entertain when I am trying to get something done, but I typically make my kids play.  Like really play - with each other or their friends here or in the neighborhood.  Or even (gasp!) play by themselves.

So my sweet, adorable Meggie, who was probably about 3 or 4 at the time, was painting a picture for me at the kitchen table and we were chatting, and she says to me with this big happy wide-toothed smile: "Mom, just shut your half-wit pie-hole."

I was like, "What?!"

And she says, a little softer and quieter, probably because of my shocked-looking face, "Shut your half-wit. Pie. Hole?"  like a s l o w, nervous question.

And I had to turn around, with my back to her, and bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing out loud.  Because even though it was so inappropriate, coming out of my sweet little girlie's mouth, it sounded so bad it was funny.  But of course I didn't want her to think that.

"Meg, you can't say that. That's inappropriate!  Where in the world did you hear such a thing?!"  I said, turning when I had myself under control.  She does have an older brother and sister, but we don't swear in front of our kids, and we don't say stuff like that.  At all.

"But Squidward said it to Spongebob."  She said.  Innocent.  With her sweet little pouty face

Ahhhhhh.... Spongebob.  Nick Jr.  So I got it.  It taught me to watch those shows on Nick Jr. that I was letting my kids watch, thinking it was innocent, like Sesame Street.  But man, some of the things I heard on that channel, a channel that I always thought was designed for little kids,  seem to have adult humor that goes way over my kid's heads. 

At least I'd like to think they go over my kid's heads.

wordless wednesday - first swim of the season

an addiction of sorts

So I love Diet Dr. Pepper.

I love it and it really means a lot to me.  I don't drink a 12-pack a day like my unnamed sister (starts with J and ends with enney).  Actually my unnamed sister drinks a 12-pack a day of DIET VANILLA COKE, or the newest, VANILLA COKE ZERO.

You know, the more I think about it, she is way more addicted to her soda than I am.

A side note story that is a little relevant:  A bad thing happened a few years ago, and Coca Cola stopped making DVC (from this point forward, lets all refer to Diet Vanilla Coke as DVC , because I am tired of writing it already.  And it is my blog).  So my sister J, (lets just refer to her as J) was thrown into a panic.  She called one of her best friends who lives in GA (funny, funny college room mate who incidentally, swears like a truck driver at her kids) [side side note, I am not judging, but I don't swear at my kids or near them, really] and the reason she did this is because her friend's husband works for Coca Cola.  She wanted to do her best to get a ridiculous supply of DVC before it was gone forever.  She was really devastated.  She even tried training herself to like another Diet Coke.  Normally she would stock up with at least six or seven 12-packs a week.  So they basically kept DVC on the shelves and just turned the can a different color and named it VANILLA COKE ZERO, probably because J single handledly purchased enough of it to prove that people liked it. They really liked it! I think she also wrote them a scathing letter, but I can't be sure. Probably scathing, along with utter horror.

She only brings a case into the house at a time, and typically just drives around with them in the way back of her Denali.  As if she might ever get stuck without them.  And sometimes, her cans burst because of the heat or the cold.  And the cases shifting from one side of the truck to the other during turns could drive someone to drink (something other than DVC/VCZ preferably).   And she doesn't share them.  Really, like rarely.  It's just a known rule in her house.  And I totally get it. 

So anyway, I just wanted to point out that there is someone out there who loves their soda probably a little more than I love mine.

And I just quit my love, Diet Dr. P. 

I quit because I am consciously cutting out artificial sweeteners, and reducing sugar in general, actually.  I am going on EIGHT DAYS of not drinking one sip even.  AND, I actually have two cans in my fridge taunting me on a daily basis.  I was trying to get all of them finished up for the the big quit day, but I was left with two.  I couldn't just throw them away.  That would have been a crime.  So there they sit.  I keep pushing them deeper into the back of the fridge, to the deep, dark area where there might be an old hardened chicken nugget, or a Tupperware of moldy peaches (maybe, not FOR REAL, my fridge is sparkling and clean, I'm just painting a picture for ya.  sheesh).

So I am recovering.  I am a recovering Diet Dr. Pepper addict.  I had a headache for two days straight, and I think it was really related to not drinking my soda.  But now, I feel like I can stand here and admit it.  And I am doing good, and no longer craving it that much.  And even though water gets a little boring, it actually makes me feel kinda good.

But I still heart it.  I heart it and miss it. A lot.

an admission

My sister Jenney loves Dr Phil.  She actually almost got to go on his show recently after writing the good doc a letter about her kid's constant arguing.  Sadly, it turned out that their family just couldn't make it to the studio on such short notice, so they didn't go on.  She would have died.  Jenney loves Dr. Phil.  So she has a lot of Dr Phil-isms that she always comes out with, and really, they are very sensible.  My sister Jen is a person with about the most common sense of anyone I know -- AND she gives good advice and doesn't just feed you a line of what you want to hear, which is something I truly value in a person.  Anyway, I pretty rarely turn the TV on during the day and I only catch Dr Phil every so often, so I rely on Jenney to come out with those cool words of wisdom as needed.

One thing that Jen (Dr. Phil) says often is "fake it til you make it."

It makes me think of being a kid, and my mom telling us to slap a smile on our faces and eventually we'd feel better if we were unhappy.

It does work in many respects.  If you're down, but you're making an effort to keep smiling, most of the time you just start feeling happier --  it is hard to be crabby and down in the dumps when you're smiling.  Really.  You should try it.

If I want to be honest, I have to say that I "fake it" a lot of the time because I have these dumb anxieties.  I never really recognized it in myself, in fact, I often got on my sister Ali's case for being such a worrier, but it totally affects me every day.  I hate it.   It's mostly social anxiety, and dumb irrational thinking, but man - I just don't know how to turn that "voice inside" off sometimes.

I'm pretty sure I have pinpointed when it all started, and I keep coming back to several years ago when my Meggie was only about 12 months old.  Here's the rational part: I've always considered myself a good driver, very competent - felt that I had business on the road, you know.  One day, I saw a clip on the news that showed a person falling out the back door of a car on a highway during a cop chase.  It was a pretty gruesome clip, graphically showing the person literally bouncing on the road.  Awful images.

I could not stop thinking about that clip.  I was actually dreaming about it.  I drove a rockin' Expedition at the time, and it was kind of high up on the road.  It was a very safe car, but every time I got in and drove out of town, I would panic at the thought of one of my kids falling out.  That was the irrational part.  I just kept seeing this image of one of my babies falling and hitting the ground, like the clip.  Seriously, I know it sounds freaking weird, but it was awful.  If a passenger so much as cracked a window, it would make my heart drop, because it sounded like the door was opening.   This mostly happened if I had kids in the car, and it definitely seemed worse at night.

And you know, rationally, I knew it would be highly unlikely that such a thing would actually happen to me.  But it made me question my skills as a driver, made me nervous driving anywhere on the highway, made me sometimes have to pull over to take a few minutes to chill out.  On many occasions, I considered calling my husband to just come get me.  Out of sheer embarrassment at acting like such a dummy, I'd forced myself back on the road and talk myself home.

(I tried to make this look cooler than it actually is)

I actually had to trade the car in, and it did help some.  Now I drive a super cool mini-van.  Yeehaw!  I have no idea what the difference is, but I haven't had a panic attack behind the wheel of this car in ages.  Hmph.

SORRY!  I really wasn't going to go into such depth about this one particular anxiety. I pretty much keep my issues to myself and "fake it til I make it," let's all just be thankful I stopped at that one long-winded admission...

So what do you all freak out about?

being alone

Language has created the word "loneliness"

to express the pain of being alone.

And it has created the word "solitude"

to express the glory of being alone.

-Paul Tillich

OMG = oh my gross

So I try to avoid public bathrooms at all costs, because bathroom germs gross me out. 

Side note:  My littlest peanut used to be OBSESSED with Porto-Potties a few years ago - and wanted to go into them whenever she saw them.  Let's just say I let her scream it out.  A lot.  I would rather hold her up in the bushes if she had to go to the bathroom, and take the pee that would inevitably wind up on my feet over the Porto-Potty any day.  In other words, it would have to be a straight up emergency for me to even open one of those doors.

ANYWAY, back to public bathrooms.  So we were in Wal-Mart the other day, and Brooke had to go.  So we headed into the bathroom, my typical "Don't TOUCH anything!" was said, of course. 

"I know Mom!"  she answers, locking me out of the little stall.  Of course she knows, Miss Independent.

So I was standing there, waiting for her.   She came out and started washing her hands.  I of course joined her.  Then this normal looking lady comes out of another stall, glances at herself in the mirror, and walks out.

I was so grossed out.  Could people POSSIBLY wash their hands after they use public bathrooms??!!  I mean, I later saw her pushing her basket (the handle probably had her bathroom germs all over it), touching stuff, and putting it back on the shelves.  I was like, OMG. 

It's like the next person who touches that grocery cart, or the random merchandise she handled might as well just touch her bare butt!!

That is seriously the kind of thing that makes me want to wear those little doctor gloves everywhere.  Like Michael Jackson.  And Howie Mandell.

 

Maybe I am just weird, and I am sorry, but I just think that's gross!!

If only for my sanity, please can't we just all wash our hands after we use the bathroom?