Why is my dog so obsessed with seeing me naked???

This is going to sound weird, but we don’t have a lock on our bathroom door… Okay, like I said, weird, but we have our reasons… Our house is old, in need of updating, and the bathroom door is just one of the many (MANY) projects that nobody (I’m looking at you, husband) has gotten around to doing yet.

My children, in typical child fashion, see the lack of a door lock as an open invitation to bang the door open as far as my leg will allow, poke their noses in (not necessarily the wisest decision), and stare at me with one eye so they can ask me an “emergency” question… Yes, in my household, asking if they can put their pajamas on is considered a privacy-invading emergency that cannot wait even 30 seconds.

I have heard the “my children won’t leave me alone when I’m pooping or showering” scenario from many of my friends… I actually understand not wanting to wait a single second to tell someone what’s on your mind because it is of the utmost importance (being myself what some might consider a “non-stop talker”)… The children bothering me, I get that… Hell, I actually expect it.

What I don’t get, not even a little bit, is why my dog can’t leave me alone when I’m in there.

The first time it happened, I actually screamed out in shock and horror when the door banged open and instead of seeing the adorable peach colored nose of my child I saw the decidedly unadorable black nose of my little white pitbull. It’s not like she wants to have a conversation. What in the world does she want from me that can’t wait 30 seconds? She certainly doesn’t need to put her pajamas on and never once has she asked me for permission before chewing on something or peeing on the floor.

It started out with a few scratches, but has now turned into a full-blown assault on my bathroom peace of mind… This dog is now literally throwing herself against the door while I am trying to read my magazine… Um…. I mean… While I’m trying to put on my makeup.

What used to be my favorite part of the day, my relaxing, quiet, warm and cozy shower, has now become an exercise in paranoia (“What was that? Do I feel cold air?”) and frustration. I have tried everything to keep that dog from letting all my wonderful freshly steamed shower air out and allowing the freezing cold hallway air into my 30 minutes of peace and quiet bubble. I have shoved a towel under the door as a sort of makeshift lock (she scratches, shoulders, and digs until she works the towel free), I have screamed in a super scary way at her when she pokes her nose around the shower curtain (she runs away and then returns one minute later), I have tried posting my children as guards (they get bored within three minutes and wander off)… Nothing, absolutely nothing, will keep my dog from bursting in and disrupting my amazing soulful singing.

Why?!? What in the world does she think is going on in there?!? There’s no food and nothing important to tear apart. There’s certainly not an affectionate pat on the head waiting behind the door. Is she seriously that obsessed with seeing my horrible nude form??? And even if she was, isn’t 5000 times enough??? I don’t get it!!!

I have spent hours of my life trying to solve this problem… I have even tried sneaking my way into the shower and hoping she doesn’t realize I’m in the bathroom. As I am showering, I can practically hear the Jaws theme music as I wait for the inevitable Little White Dog of Doom to burst in.

In fact, I feel like I have actually come up with a solution to this extremely pressing, urgent, and life-threatening problem of mine. However, it is the most difficult solution of all…

My husband must fix the door. Because, let’s face it, I’m not going to even attempt to figure out how to fix it myself.

The path to this solution is a long, treacherous, winding mine-field of nagging and helpful suggestions. Though may take years, though my voice may become hoarse and my will may weaken, it must be done…

Wish me luck! Also, wish Sugar luck because I’m not quite sure what I’ll do the next time I see those vacant brown eyes staring at me when I am right in the middle of a rousing shower chorus of “Firework.”


The Rules

Do you ever make up rules for your husband that he has no idea about? Rules that he must follow or face the ultimate penalty (which of course, is your annoyance)?

I had a sudden realization this morning that I have an entire list in my head of these rules, and my dear husband is totally clueless. The following is a short synopsis. I find it to be super logical and extremely reasonable, and I’m sure you’ll agree.

1. If you’re watching something painfully boring on tv and I come sit down with you, change the channel. Nobody wants to watch the History Channel’s reenactment of the Gettysburg blabbity bloo. NOBODY!!! Except you I guess.

2. If I make the coffee, I get to drink most of it… Also, if you make coffee will you pretty please let me drink most of it?

3. Do not just look at me when I make a hilarious joke. You laugh your ass off, buddy!!! I am giving you gold here!!!

4. Never, EVER, suggest that my witty comments are not a welcome addition to a movie we are watching… Or that it might be annoying… Again, it’s all gold, baby!

5. If I have purchased a special snack for myself, don’t touch it. I don’t care if that thing has been sitting in the cupboard for three years. The second you eat it, I am going to know about it and I am going to be super pissed.

6. On the weekends, you are in charge of the children in the morning so I can sleep… Seriously, those kids better not come anywhere near me until 9:00 am… I am up at 4:55 every morning to go to the gym, then I come home and get them ready for school. Weekends are Mama’s sleepy time!!!

7. You are in charge of every single mildly icky job in this house. Every. One.!!! I don’t want to see a giant slimy hairball from the shower drain (and how dare you suggest that it’s my hair so I should have to clean it up)… I don’t want to have anything to do with the vomit of the puppy I insisted on getting… Listen, I know I promised I would pick up her crap from the backyard and you would never ever have to worry about her when I weaseled my way into getting her, but now that she’s here I feel like I may have overstated my involvement in the icky jobs associated with a puppy… So… If you could handle that I would really appreciate it.

8. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT, put your hand betwixt the rolls of chub on my stomach (yes, my body is that terrible). I realize you are trying to be affectionate, but really?!? There?!? Can’t you just pat me on the head or something???

9. Don’t continue reading the newspaper when I am launching into one of my tirades about whatever it is there is to tirade about… Whatever I’m complaining about is of the utmost importance and is never over dramatized, so it should be taken very seriously… Definitely not as if it’s so boring you can listen to it and read the paper at the same time.

10. When you say something super sweet to me and I can’t help but say something that I find to be amusing in response rather than the swoon you were hoping for, don’t get your feelings hurt… Babe, I love you! You complete me (see, I can be romantic too!)! It’s just that when you’re a comedian (in your own mind) such as myself, ya just can’t turn it off.

Now I know these “rules” may seem arbitrary… Possibly ridiculous… And maybe someday I should tell my husband about them… But don’t feel too sorry for him. The most horrible punishment he ever gets is pursed lips or an eye roll. Plus he has my undying love and affection, so that has to count for something.

My ears want to jump off my head!

Thanksgiving will be here in just a few days, so I feel like now is a great time to contemplate the important things in my life…

Like how I’m going to get through Thanksgiving break trapped in my house with both of my children.

Listen, I love them. I absolutely adore them! But they’re noisy. Soooooooo noisy!!! During the day when just my three year old is home, we keep it at around 107 decibels. When my eight year old comes home? Well, I’m not certain it’s possible to measure the amount of sound pumped from those two little sets of lungs combined. According to the chart I just Googled (yes, I did that), pain begins at 125 decibels… I consider that our baseline when the whole family is here.

My children scream just for the pure joy of screaming. I honestly think my life would be complete if I could feel, just for a few moments, the pure jubilation they experience when they are screaming their little guts out. The looks on their faces as they, for no discernible reason, make random noises (Mmmmmm-oooom!!! Mommy! Mmmmm-ama!!!, oh wait, that’s not random, that’s my name) at top volume, are as close to nirvana as one could ever hope to be.

When you add the two loudest dogs in the universe, the tv, and someone who feels the need to listen to an ipod with the speaker on, it is a mixture even earplugs can’t diminish.

Nobody ever tells you that the pitter patter of little feet is deafening.

I’m not gonna lie, there have been days when my ears are literally ringing by bedtime. Peaceful is not a term I would use to describe my household. However, in a weird way, I’m kind of looking forward to the chaos (even if my ears aren’t). I have an hour and a half to myself every week when both of my kids are in school at the same time, and it gets kinda boring after about ten minutes. I like my crazy noisy kids and my super dumb dogs.

So, though I honestly believe that my children are negatively affecting my auditory processing for the long term, I think Thanksgiving break may possibly be survivable. Or I could end up in the corner covering my ears and rocking like a mental patient.

Either way, I am taking the cost of my hearing aids out of my children’s inheritance.

A comedy podcast by an idiot and her brother.