Sunday Sunday

I miss my ward. And the old neighborhood.

Tommy misses his Primary class (and especially his teachers) like you wouldn't believe. And he wants to ride bikes. Which he thinks he can only do at our old house because as soon as we moved it turned into Utah and it's been bitter cold and covered in snow outside. I'm not really sure when he'll realize we're not going back there.

Little John doesn't talk enough to express missing home. But I'm sure he does. Because how could he not?

During the move Josh's work schedule changed. He asked for Sundays off and by some small miracle he got it. Josh has been working at least every other Sunday for....I don't know, longer than I care to think about. And honestly, if I didn't have the calling I had, I might have stopped going to church without him. The boys and I had some good really good weeks when I convinced myself I could handle it, and some really horrible weeks when I swore I'd never leave my house again, but most of the weeks were just hard and over time it all felt so.....pointless. I was getting nothing but mad at my kids, and my kids were crazy and ornery and so so tired and wiggly and ... children.

Here's the thing, I have a testimony and I love church. And I even love The Church. And I love The Gospel. But I felt worn down and alone. So this schedule change which gave me an extra set of hands felt like a gift from God, just for me. Like "I can see you need it, so let me boost you just a bit."

So a month ago my Sundays were very full and structured days. The alarm went off just as early as any other day and the Sunday clothes lasted at least 6 hours for all of us. They were busy days during which I wasn't as available to them as I wanted to be.

And right now, I have this sweet grace period right after you move where they don't call you to anything, and when/if they do it isn't likely to be too demanding - because what if we turn out to be unreliable? - and I get Sunday mornings to spend with my sweet family doing exactly what I want to and avoiding everything else. At least that's what it felt like this morning.

So we made breakfast. The good kinds. Eggs, muffins, fruit. Delicious.

I didn't make the kids get dressed, because late church = late jammies.

So we sat around the Christmas Tree talking and playing. The boys took turns playing the piano, I read a book, and Josh slept.

It was a beautiful morning. And I'm looking forward to a few more like it before we switch to 9:00 church and I start enjoying beautiful afternoons.

I can't cook

I never really thought that people who can cook had a real talent. I just sortof figured it was one of those things where you do what the recipe says and then the food turns out how it was supposed to.

I have always had a huge amount of respect for people who can invent things (a la Ratatouille). That has always clearly been a talent in my mind. But following a recipe and having it turn out? Not so much.

Until now.

I'm 25 years old and just now realizing that I can't cook.

You would think I would've noticed when Josh taught me how to make pancakes. From a mix. Because I couldn't get them right.

Or perhaps the time I boiled 3 empty pans on the stove within 2 weeks should have tipped me off.

Maybe I could have figured it out when I started making my guests check to see if the brownies (from a box) were done.

But it took one horrible week in which I overcooked the buttermilk syrup (creating buttermilk paste....), undercooked the chocolate frosting (creating chocolate pudding drizzle) and ruined the fruit dip beyond repair to make me realize that I cannot cook.

I told Josh about my revelation and he tried desperately to convince me that I do cook (because he's afraid he'll starve if I cook any less than I do now...), but instead convinced himself that I make a mess of a meal and he fixes it so it's edible. Unless of course it's one of the 10 meals I actually know how to make. So, in the end he agrees with me.

Turns out following a recipe is harder than I thought.

And it only took me 25 years to figure that out.

Kinda makes me wonder what else I'm bad at.....

surrendering my weapons and other airport stories

After spending 5 hours in airports so far today (with a few more to go), I headed through security at the Pasco airport. In case you didn't know, Pasco houses the teeniest tiniest airport there is. Period. End of discussion.

I was one of 25 people in the airport when I landed, and 3 of them were working security, 2 at the rental car counter and 1 in the gift shop. They didn't need anybody to man the vending machines. Nobody was checking in. Only the people on my flight were leaving. And I've seen Elementary School parking lots with more complex pickup systems.

So on the way back, I wasn't in any hurry to get to the airport and I certainly didn't need to give myself an hour to get through security.

Or so I thought.

I arrived at the airport at 4:35 and my flight left at 5:00. Plenty of time to get through all 100 square feet of the airport.

Or so I thought.

They were positively swamped. After watching all 35 people ahead of me go through the metal detector I was anxiously waiting my turn.

Can you believe that guy in front me who didn't take his keys out of his pocket before walking through the metal detector?

And that lady actually thought her kid could take a Nalgene bottle FULL of water on the plane?

Helloooo don't they know that's how people die?

After they put my purse through the x-ray machine for the 3rd time, I started to review it's contents in my head. Homemade cookies? Check. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. I had already dutifully removed my tiny deadly lotion and hand sanitizer because I am a pro at airport security. Were they scanning it over and over because they wanted to see how cute my bookmark was? Were they trying to figure out why one person needed so many feminine supplies? Was he giggling over my change of clothes? Or was there an actual problem? Did they realize that with 1 pair of glasses and the power of the sun I could melt the entire aircraft?

Finally at MY suggestion they dug through my purse to find the offending item. The Nazi in Laytex Gloves (NLG) cleverly disguised as a Nice Mom Lady yanked my keys out of my purse and thrust them in the air victoriously. "Aha!" she said abandoning her Nice Mom Lady voice in favor of her Robot Nazi voice.

There on my key ring, where it always is, was the pocket knife keychain my boss gave me for Christmas 2 years ago. Dang it.

NLG: "What would you like to do about this weapon." She asked me with a scowl on her face.
Me: "Ummm.....weapon?" Note to self. Do not sass Airport People. They're a jumpy breed.
NLG: Silence while giving the stink eye.
Me: "What are my choices?"
NLG: "Well. You could check your bag."
Me: Bag? That is a PURSE. It's not even in LARGE purse! You should see the purse my sister in law carries! That is a BAG.  
NLG: "But each bag checked costs $35."
Me: "Mmmhmmm.... do you have any ideas that are free?"
NLG: "You could return it to the party who dropped you off at the airport."
Me: "Oh, you mean the party that left me here with you psychos to fend for myself? The party who is already at home in her living room eating fresh homemade cookies with her beautiful daughter? The party who didn't have to stand in your 35 person line for 20 minutes? That party?" Oh wait. That was actually in my head. The words in my mouth were: "Oh, she's long gone."
NLG: "You could go to the post office and mail it home."
Me: "Can I just throw it away?"
NLG: Marching over to the x-ray man. "This woman would like to surrender her weapon."
Me: Surrender my weapon? Are you serious? That weapon has a blade that isn't sharp enough to open a bag of ritz crackers and a nail file. Do I look like a person who could take down a plane with that kind of a "weapon"? Really?
NLG: "I'll have to take samples of the interior of the bag for analysis before I can let you go."
Me: "OK."
NLG: Suddenly lost the robot voice and has donned her clever Nice Mom Lady disguise (including the voice) again. "This is a great bag."
Me: "Um...thanks."

*******************************************************

I will do anything to avoid an airplane lavatory. ANYTHING. Of course that requires great planning and the phrase "are you SURE you don't have to go?" running through my head roughly 10 million times during the 30 minutes immediately preceding boarding.

I'll tell you this about the San Fransisco airport. Their toilet paper is worse than cruise ship toilet paper. Now you know.

***********************************************************

I think that guy who invented the Dyson airblade hand dryers did not realize that people would probably put tiny bits of food and dirty and sticky things on their hands just to see if the air would blow it off. And it does. And then it sits in the bottom of the dryer thing until someone presumably comes to clean it. Gross.

Also I think that guy took the idea from airplanes. Because when you fly in the rain, the windows stay dry because the air is moving so fast.

If only that guy could figure out how to get a pocketknife through security.

***********************************************************

There is a round restaurant called "Just Desserts" in the middle of the food court at the airport. They have some lovely desserts on display around the outside of it.

They also have a section of food. Salads, sandwiches, soups, and snacks.

I want to burn the dude who thought of the name of the restaurant.

Also their cheesecake was really really not great.

**********************************************************

If you have a kid, and you're in the airport, the stupid stuff at gift shops looks less stupid.

However, if you have a kid and you're in the airport, you're still dead broke so it doesn't matter how cool that stuff looks.

The breastfeeding drama continues

Here's the thing.....

I still really hate that I'm not breastfeeding Sweet Baby of Mine. Most of the time it's fine. It's convenient, it's easy, and my boobs belong to me and not the child attached me. So that's a really great thing.

But I hate that we're not doing it. It wouldda been free. It wouldda been healthier. It wouldda stopped me from feeling like I wasn't meant to have kids. (OK That's probably not entirely true.....but it might have helped.)

Last week Josh said something about how we feed him and I sobbed. I cried because I'm not giving my baby the best of the best. I cried because I probably quit and gave up too soon. I cried because I wondered if I should've just tried harder. I cried because even though I did everything I was supposed to I just wasn't enough.

95% of the time it's really not a big deal, but the other 5% of the time - it's the whole world to me and my heart aches for the missed bonding time, the lost attachment, the nutrients he isn't getting, the reminder that I wasn't meant to be a mom, it all hurts.

I've convinced myself again that if I take the herbs all through pregnancy, if I pump longer, if I work with the Lactation Lady it'll be different next time. Things will go better. My body will cooperate and I'll prove that I was meant to be a mom. I know I was.

I just need another chance and I'll do it better.

But this time it hurts.

Some signs I'm doing well

Fitness has never been my thing. But I'm working on it and slowly improving. Here's how I know (about the improving part not the slow part.....):

******************Exhibit A******************
This morning I had a Dr.'s appointment. I talked to him about some concerns I have with the PCOS diagnosis. When I asked him how else this would affect my life (you know, other than not being able to have a baby any old time I want), he said "well typically people with PCOS are overweight and have a hard time getting out of that. They also wind up with diabetes a lot of the time."

So we talked about it, and I asked him if I should be doing anything (more than I'm doing). His response: "Well, if you were extremely overweight I'd worry. But you're nowhere near my worry-radar."

Now, before you jump down Dr. Man's throat for being blind and stupid you should know that he wasn't telling me I'm a healthy weight (I'm not), just that I'm not "extremely overweight".

I don't care, I'll take it.

******************Exhibit B******************
I got a training schedule online so I can run that 5k instead of walking it.

OK really a training schedule fell into my lap (thank you nutrimirror) and I printed it and stuck it to my fridge. That's just my style of ambition.

Although I walk 3-4 miles every day, I didn't really think I could run a significant distance without stopping.

I was pleasantly surprised to run my 1.5 miles today without stopping (this is the first try).

When I started I promised myself that if I ran through song #1 I could walk through song #2. (I also make deals with myself about napping on Sundays. "If you get up and get ready for church, I promise you can take a nap after church...." Do you make deals with yourself like that?.....chirp chirp........ No? ...... Just me? OK....) By the time I got to the point that I would want to walk through the next song I was close enough to done that I wanted to say "I ran the whole thing" more.

Yay for running!

******************Exhibit C******************

I spilled salad dressing instead of oreo crumbs on my keyboard today. 

It's all about the little victories people.

Dance Party

Confession: Sometimes I open the Seriously So Blessed blog just for the music and Thomas and I have a dance party.

Then "A Window To His Love" turns on and I immediately regret my decision.

Confession

I'm not sure why I feel compelled to tell you all of the horrible things I do as a mother and as a human being....but for some reason confessing makes me feel better. And this has been eating at my conscience for almost a month now.

The worst thing I've done as a mother (according to Josh) is this:

While we were in Arizona we figured out that wearing the babe in the wrap was easier than pushing a stroller around the crowded room. So around the hotel I did.

One day at the free hotel breakfast some lady came up to me and asked "how old she was". I said "a month" instead of correcting her and went back to stalking the waffle machine. Josh was just close enough to overhear and when I sat down at the table he asked me if I really just told that lady that our baby was a girl. Obviously I didn't tell the lady that Thomas was a girl, I just didn't tell her he was a boy either. Obviously.

It's just that it was a common misconception what with the pink wrap and all....and I was sick of correcting people and then trying to explain why on earth I'd put a boy in a pink wrap. Here's why: I'm a girl. I don't dress him in pink, or dresses, or frills. And I don't even wrap him in pink blankets - but Josh's grandma gave me a pink wrap, and it happens to be the only way I can get the child to sleep and I'm sure that Grandma figured that since I'm the one wearing it, it should match my gender - like a purse. And I talked myself into agreeing with her because I wanted to use it. Plus Grandma is trendier than I'll ever be. She drives a Mazda 6, has fake nails, and bought things at Swiss Days.

Unfortunately almost everybody we come across while wearing the wrap thinks he's a girl.

And Josh thinks I insulted Thomas' manhood by not standing up for him. I didn't! Thomas is the manliest baby I know - he grunts and poops and kicks things. What more could I want?

I corrected the next 3 people who called him a boy, and everybody who asked a gender neutral question got a very clear "HE" answer. So I made it up to him, right?

And more importantly, can I keep wearing the wrap? Was Grandma totally wrong? Was I stupid for not immediately taking it back and insisting on a blue one? Do they even make blue ones? Is the baby wearing it, or am I?

I worry

Wanna know what kinds of things this crazy mom worries about?

An upcoming trip to the dentist. Josh will be working so I'll take Thomas with me. What if he doesn't sleep through it? What if he wakes up and starts to be fussy? What if he cries while my mouth is full of fingers? What if I bite the fingers off and jump up from the chair and dash to my child's carrier to rescue him? Will they charge me for their hospital bills? What if he cries and I don't have the guts to bite the fingers and instead I try to talk and it comes out like everything I say with a mouthful of fingers "ah ay ae ih cah eeh" (my baby is crying)? And what if because I'm such a gutless pansy I don't get to rescue him? What if either of those embarrassing things happens and Lisa (the lady who works on my teeth, and also my Aunt) tells the whole family and we are the joke at every household dinner for eternity?

Talking about the upcoming blessing with Josh (back when it was "upcoming" instead of "recent") I asked him all the details of how the circle works. How do you hold the baby? Do you just have to hold him straight out with both hands - you'll use both hands right? I mean you're not just gonna try to palm him and count on the other guys to support the rest of him, right? They don't make you put your hand on someone else's shoulder do they? Promise me you'll use both hands! (He didn't promise. Rude.) Well when you hold something straight out like that your arms are going to get tired - what if you JUST started, but your arms are too tired to hold him, do you just quit? "The name you'll be known by....will be Thomas -" ugh. You're heavy, I'm putting you down. What if my baby never got the rest of his name because he's so heavy and too hard to hold straight out like that? Josh wasn't worried at all about either of those things. Weird huh?

I'd like to think the baby brings out the psycho-worrier in me, but probably I've always been this crazy and now I just have something small that brings new topics to worry about.

Threw off my groove or How I live in Spaghetti

Yesterday I decided to make breakfast casserole but had to go to the grocery store for a few* ingredients.

On my way out of Foxboro there was a "road closed to through traffic" sign in the roundabout. Instead of taking a different roundabout exit and leaving the neighborhood another way I knew, I drove past the sign and thought "I live here. I don't count as 'through traffic'."

Then I drove around another "closed to through traffic" sign. Because I live here!

Then another.

And then, to my shock, the road was CLOSED. Like closed closed. Not just "drive around the sign" closed but really closed. For some reason I was surprised. "What? They can do that?"

That's when I started to panic because "How the heck am I supposed to get out of here?" and I started taking random neighborhood roads. I blame Brigham Young for the fact that I think I can pick any road any road and get anywhere I want.

See 9,000 years ago when they settled in Salt Lake Brigham Young said: "Hey, lets make all the roads straight and wide so people can drive on them!" and they did.

Now, 9,000 years later I believe all roads go everywhere and if you miss your turn you just take the next one and backtrack later. That's because when the roads are square, you can do that.

(Want a visual? Go to maps.google.com and type in "200 S 300 E, Salt Lake City, UT". See the squares? See how every road goes through? See how when you zoom out all you get is more squares? Beautiful right? Thanks Brigham. OK now type in "Center Street, North Salt Lake, UT" and see the pile of spaghetti on the left side of the screen? That's what Foxboro looks like. (most of the chaos is not yet mapped, this is the best example I could find) None of the roads go through, and usually you come out somewhere 5 feet from where you started after driving through a mile of houses that look exactly alike. Except for the color/font of the "Welcome" vinyl lettering on the front door.)

For some reason my poor brain thought I needed to get out of the neighborhood as close to my regular exit as possible so I drove through these random neighborhoods not going anywhere for almost 5 minutes before realizing I could just go to the church and leave the neighborhood on that road.

Sometimes I have trouble obeying signs. And sometimes I have trouble doing things a different way than is normal. And sometimes I get lost in my own neighborhood. And sometimes I make the world's best breakfast casserole. Even if we don't eat until 11am.

Totally worth it.

*Somehow my mom NEVER had to go to the grocery store for anything. She always has everything she could possibly need in the kitchen or in food storage. I don't know how she does it. My list of "a few" groceries was a page long and had a lot to do with junk food for Conference.

Sheepdog Competition

On Thursday Josh called me and asked if we had plans he didn't know about for the Holiday weekend.

Given that my version of "making plans" these days has more to do with napping and eating than.....well anything else, he would've been safe betting that my answer was a slightly hysterical "You actually think I'm going to initiate either one of us getting off the couch this weekend? Good try babe, but you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming from my very comfy couch."

But Josh is a Mormon, so he doesn't bet.
Also he's a good husband so he pretends I'm still fun even though I'm not.

I (very hesitantly) told him we had no plans, and asked what he was thinking.

"Dude! (yes, he calls me dude. It's how I know he thinks I'm lovely and beautiful and charming and elegant and feminine....cuz what's more romantic than 'dude'?) I just saw a sign for some sheep-competition-dog-fest thing. It's at Soldier Hollow this weekend, can we go?"

I sat on the other end of the line unsuccessfully trying not to laugh out loud at him. What kind of person wants to go to a "sheep-competition-dog-fest" anyway? Josh is allergic to dogs. We don't have dogs. We don't have sheep. We don't even know what sheepdogs do. And we certainly don't care about the festival of all things relating to sheepdogging.

Finally through my laughing I told him I thought he was "so weird!" and that "yeah sure. we can do that if you want to." You should know how proud* I am of myself for having such a great attitude and laughing instead of crying and saying 'yeah sure' instead of 'over my dead body'. Sometimes I really am a good wife.

Turns out a lot of people not only knew the International Sheepdog Festival exists, but they go to this thing. I know because all of you (Rachel) blogged about it and I saw you there (Felecia) and we waited in line behind you to get our lunch (crazy guy with a tattoo) and we sat behind you on the bleachers (old guy with a big butt) and you parked too close to our car (dirtbag in a big fat truck), and you took all the seats at the lunch tables (grouchy lady who whined about teh wind), and you were as excited as I was about the port-a-handwashing-stations outside the cleanest port-a-potties I've ever seen (mother of 3 kids under 5 years old).

Also I know you were there because we stole the last seats at the Amazing Canines show and felt guilty when you looked as hot and tired as we felt, but we didn't offer you our seats because we earned them. Also because we're not the nice seat-offering kind of people you wish we were. Sorry. I'm pregnant and I don't care that you've been dragging around your 2-year-old looking for "lost sheep" so you can get a free ice cream cone all day long. But we're not going to talk about that because it makes me look bad.


We started the day with the splash dogs competition because we heard (OK I read it on Rachel's blog) that it was the coolest part. And I'd hate to be grouchy during the coolest part. When you plan to spend the day out in the hot sun waddling around crowds of people grouchy is pretty much inevitable. These dogs freakin' rocked. They looked beautiful jumping (see?)

Except those that were pansies and wouldn't jump. They did not look beautiful - probably because they weren't jumping. Sissies.

These guys tried to get this dog to jump for a good 5 minutes, patting the end of the platform, "go go go!" they'd shout. The threw stuff into the pool, they tried to make him run off the edge without noticing that he was jumping off a cliff, but this dog wasn't going for it. Way too smart for that. He walked around to the ramp intended to let him out of the pool and walked into the pool that way to get his toys.

We watched lots of other dog stuff (mostly cheesy and geared toward young kids), the actual sheepdog part (some guy actually came from South Africa to compete...SOUTH AFRICA!), talked to people and got a wicked sunburn.

The day ended with the decision to veto Swiss Days (didn't really feel like looking at expensive crafts I can't afford to buy) in favor of stopping at 7-11 for the greatest slurpee of all time. Doesn't matter the flavor, (but it didn't cost $10, and it would have at Sheepdog Land) just matters that it was at the end of a VERY VERY long hot day.

In all I was really pleasantly surprised at how un-lame the Sheepdog Festival was (even though I'm still laughing that we spent Labor Day there). Will I go next year? Haul my 1 year old child around in the hot sun and hope he's entertained by a dog running up a hill to gather the sheep (for like 20 mintues)?

No. Absolutely not. Even if I'm trying to convinvce Josh that we still do fun things. Even after all these years.

If he needs convincing, we'll go to the beach. Or the zoo. Or the grocery store. See? I'm cool.

*Pride is a sin, but you wanna know what else I'm proud of? Being smart enough to just take a picture of the big sign with the schedule instead of paying $5 for a program. Cheapskate extraordinaire.

Filth

Does anyone actually remove the cover on the back of the hairdryer to clean out that filter thing? Ever? If I read the instructions (I don't, and won't) would I find a maintenance schedule? How often is a person supposed to do something like that?

I may or may not be asking because I left my hairdryer on the counter, causing Josh to throw it on the floor in a fit of rage accidentally bump it with his elbow knocking it on the ground, breaking the cheap-o plastic cover revealing this nastiness:

I love pretzels.

Josh let me buy a big box of soft pretzels at Costco last time we were there. That's because he loves me so much. See?

Also because he truly hates it when I ask him to drive me to Target or the mall for a soft pretzel.

I'm pretty sure they're bad for you, but I'm wondering....if I eat just one every day for the next 11 weeks would it really be such a bad thing? I mean really?

That SuperSize Me guy did a dumber thing than that....right? And as long as someone out there is dumber than me.....it's OK, right?

Besides I have a very healthy (and tasty) green salad for lunch 5 days/week. That counts for SOMETHING right?

Eh, who am I kidding, I don't have the self control to eat just one per day. *sigh*

What'd YOU do for Earth day?

I ready everybody's posts about Earth Day at about 11:30 last night and thought back over my day. It's not a big revelation that I'm not the most environmentally friendly person around...but last night I thought about my actions all day long. Know what I did to celebrate Earth Day? (Without realizing it of course...)

• I flushed a toilet about 25 times....seriously (6 of those times were after I went to bed). I don't even want to think about how much water that is.
• I washed my hands 37 times. With the water on the whole time. And at home I waited for the water 
• I threw away 4 large Styrofoam cups.
• I drove Josh's big fat SUV to pick up our un-organically grown processed food that comes in disposable and paper wrappers. We ate said food and threw away everything that came with it. Plastic, paper, more cups, etc.
• I left the lamp on all night long....
• I turned on every light in the house at 5:30 when we got home. And I left them all on (even the closet light.....) until we went to bed much, much later.

So, there you have it. It's not like I woke up on Earth Day thinking "how can I make a mockery of an important holiday and issue?" rather, I was just doin' what comes naturally. Sad huh?

Toilet Seat Covers

I’d like to start this post by proclaiming that I’m a certifiably insane germophobe. I’d like to make some statement about how it’s so inconvenient and I really wish I could be as carefree as everyone around me seems to be. But then I’d be paranoid that sometime you’d come to me house, take one look at the dust on the baseboards in my bathroom and call me a liar.

And you’d be right.

So instead, you should know that I’d like to be a germaphobe. Well…at least more than I am. The truth is I’ve eaten potato chips that fell on the floor, and not just out in the middle of the kitchen floor either, but one that fell clear under the ledge, which is probably the most disgusting place on earth. In my defense it was a pringle....and the last one. Whatever, don't judge me.

However, I happen to think that bathrooms are the germiest most disgusting places in the world. I really do. I don’t like touching things in public restrooms – in fact don’t even like using public restrooms, but sometimes you just have to do things you don’t like. That’s called “being a grownup”. When I use public restrooms I don't make skin contact with anything, except the top of the soap dispenser, and that's just because it's a necessary evil. I always use toilet seat covers, and I open the door with a paper towel. I hit the button to the air dryers with my elbow, and I prop the door open with my foot so I can reach back to the trash can to throw away the paper towel.

For some unknown reason I don’t consider the bathroom at work a “public restroom”. It is. Stalls and everything. And technically I don't really know who else uses it. But because I use it every day, and because I know every woman who works on this floor, it’s not as gross to me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I wanna go lick the floor, or have a picnic in there, I’m just not as germaphobic about it as I am about the restroom at the Wendy’s downtown. You know?

When they remodeled our restroom a couple of months ago, they added toilet seat covers and I was thrilled! I went in and got all kinds of excited. But, the more I think about it, the more I really don’t care. Too much? Sorry. It’s just that if any of the women who worked on this floor came to my house (or even ALL of them…at one time!), and used the bathroom, I wouldn’t cover the seat with toilet paper before using it again. I also wouldn’t sanitize it before using it again.  I also wouldn’t be grossed out that they had used my hand towel to dry their hands. And I wouldn’t refuse to make skin-contact with the door handle. So why do I have to worry about it at work?

Maybe I’m disgusting and unsanitary….and maybe you’re all grossed out now….but…..really? Do I have to use the toilet seat covers?