Ridiculous is part of who I am

Some people will never admit to some of the completely normal quite ridiculous things I am about to tell you about myself. Other people really must do these things too, I mean, surely I am not the only one. Maybe I am :) And if you can't laugh at yourself - well, you are just missing a lot of good laughs!

How many times will I get startled over the same piece of coiled up black thread laying on the floor - thinking it is a ferocious spider, of course - before I finally put it in the trash can?  Then as I lay it in the trash, not burying it under other trash, I will be startled once again when I see it in the same suspicious shape on the top of my overflowing trash can. Duh.

Why do I think it is okay to give my boys a grumpy face and then growl when I see them doing something they shouldn't be doing? I really should be dealing with the issue in a proper way, but sometimes it is just way easier to dismiss the need for actual discipline. Sigh. Especially when they have already eaten half of the pack of smarties they just mischieviously took, and if I would confiscate it and put them in time-out, I would just eat it. My metabolism isn't that of a hummingbird anymore, so I really don't need it. Might as well let them finish it, and unleash the growl and grumpy face to let them know it's still not okay.

Now this is only sometimes - but it is seriously ridiculous - even if it only happens a couple times a week month. I have decided there is no need for this nonsense anymore. I mean really, who pulls the laundry out of the dryer, realizes it is cold and wrinkly, and then decide it will be much less wrinkly if I run the dryer for 10 more minutes, give it a nice fluff, and then fold it or hang it up, only to repeat this silly routine 4 or 5 2 or 3 more times. Each time convincing myself that this will be the last time I will need to run it for 10 more minutes. Honestly, how many times can an article of clothing be dried and re-dried before it starts showing signs of undue aging? It wouldn't be such a big deal if my husband wasn't allergic to wrinkled clothes. Ha, ha. I apparently am also allergic - to irons and ironing boards. :)

I like the volume to be on an even number. I don't just like it, I need it to be on an even number. In the car, on the television or radio, or whatever other device might have digital tuning for things like volume. I know it disappears after a few seconds, but I still know what it is on. I want it to be even... I just do. Because that is just a ridiculous thing that I shouldn't care about, but I do.

What is it about the man in the yellow hat? Why do I not know his name? Surely the other characters in the cartoon don't call him the man in the yellow hat... That is just George's name for him, and the narrator has to call him that, because he speaks for George. Ted doesn't count because that name is just from the movie with Will Ferrel's voice. Anyone? Anyone? Please satisfy my ridiculous concern.

My cat just got in a big "cat-fight" with another tom-cat last night. It was a neighborhood tom-cat that hangs out on our porch sometimes. I felt bad, because O-dog thought it was his fault. He said, "Mom, I think I let the wrong cat in, because we have two cats in our house now." This cat does look very similar to Burley. They are both shades of yellow. Burley is a little lighter shade of yellow, more like a butter/beige color. This other cat is a mustard yellow with darker stripes. I can see how the kids would confuse the two.
Anyway, on to my ridiculous self.
I am not really alarmed because I have never seen them fight before, and I will just let the wrong cat out, no problem. Thirty seconds after O-dog tells me of the two-cat situation, and I quickly dismiss this as no big deal, I hear this awful hissing and growling followed by some serious spatting and spitting. Then frantically the two cats come down the stairs toward the door (which is shut) in one big yellow fur ball. There are chunks of fur floating in the air, a lot more spatting and spitting, and all I can think to do is shoe O-dog back towards the kitchen and pick up a couch pillow to throw at the inseparable cats. They are making horrible sounds now, and my lack of composure is evident as O-dog is now glued to the far wall as he watches his mom take charge of the situation with a calm confidence couch pillow. You would think, because of my farm-girl upbringing, that I have seen many of these fights - which I have. And that I should have a good instinct as to how to handle myself in this situation - I don't.
I throw the pillow. A direct hit. The cats separate... I have not thought of the next logical step in my plan. They both sprint towards the door, one banging his head on the glass, because it is not open. Ah - hah! I realize the next logical step. I think about opening the door. Cats are already in massive fur-ball again. I throw pillow again. Direct hit again. Cats separate again. I run to the door, and try opening it as cats are both pushed against glass. Did I mention the door opens inward? Aargh. I get door open just enough so that they can make it outside between scratching, biting, and making other angry cat noises, which I am sure are profanity in cat-talk.

Wow. Not a great moment to be ridiculous. But... that is part of who I am. Although my son was not laughing at the very scary cat-fighting moment, I hope that my kids will be able to laugh at some of their own goofy tendencies. I am sure they will have them - since they are related to me.