Why I Can Never Live Alone Exhibit 4,576,981

The other night, the girls were asleep and I was up late doing what ever it is that I do (mostly that means I was watching stupid reality television). I got up to go to the bathroom and discovered the door was locked. This isn't an unusual event in and of itself, until I tell you the door can only lock from the inside, and it must be closed to do so.

Since I knew *I* wasn't in the bathroom, and the girls were snoring loudly, there was only one very logical and reasonable scenario. 

Someone had gotten a ladder, climbed to our third floor window, cut through the screen , and crawled through the very small window that is in there. All without making a peep. Or knocking down the candles from the window sill. 

It took me 15 minutes to work up the nerve to unlock the door, and that was only after I grabbed a pair of safety scissors to protect myself from the menace who was most certainly waiting just inside the door for me to walk in. 

Even after I wasn't killed or kidnapped right away, I had to make sure to check the tub (still with my plastic blunt edged scissors) before I was fully convinced I'm really just an over imaginative lunatic. 

I really should stop being such a drama queen.*

*In my defense, I still have yet to figure out just how the heck the door got locked. the only screwdriver we have that can turn the lock from the outside was high up on a shelf that the girls couldn't have possibly gotten to. And I know they didn't because they have never in their lives put something back where it goes without me having to nag them.  

Boxers, Briefs, or Does it matter if they were free?

When the Paulo was deployed to Iraq many moons ago, we talked every day. Because we're incredibly spoiled, and he's the communications/internet guy. One day, during a phone conversation, he asked me to send him some new underwear, ASAP.

My initial thought was that maybe the ones he had taken with him were getting all sandy and gross and he just wanted some that might be a bit more comfortable.

Nope.

He needed new under-roos because his had been stolen from the washing machine. Just his unmentionables. Not his socks. Not his shorts. Not a thing was taken but the underwear. What perplexed me MOST though, is that they were stolen from the washer and not the dryer. Who steals things that are sopping wet? You can't just wisk them away and put them in your locker. You have to dry them and in my professional criminal opinion, makes it more likely to get caught.

The husband left a few days ago. In his duffel bag is this...

"In Case the Underwear Ninjas Strike Again"

Ohhhhhhh! I'm telling! You said a bad word!!!

There is a word written on the white board in my dining room where I write down everything I need to remember. Groceries, random appointments, the 2,000 digit phone numbers of the people I need to call.

Today, there is actually a word on the board that I don't really want people to see when they walk in my house. Which means I have to run some errands ASAP.

The word?

c***cap n. A hat worn by military personnel who are wearing the dress uniform.

The "c" word is up there  on the list of words I cannot stand. I don't recall EVER using it in everyday conversations.

And yet hilarious, because I realized I don't know what it's ACTUALLY called.

Thanks, Dad. This is 138% your fault.

It Was Easier Last Time

The last time their daddy went anywhere, the big one wasn't even 3 yet.

And the little one hadn't turned 2. 

This time, they're big.

And they understand that Daddy is leaving.

The big one is mad. I can only tell her I understand.
The little one keeps making me reassure her he is not going to the place with the war. Thankfully, I can do this.

And the mommy is starting to feel horrible that her amazing kids were born into this life. They didn't choose it. I did. Daddy did.

I can't stop thinking about all military children. We ask so much of people who are so little.