Except I don't have cats. And I don't have a Jodie Foster-esque panic room. Although, sometimes I wish I did. Maybe then I could pee by myself.
However, I realized today that I very rarely get out of the house except for obligatory grocery shopping, doctor's appointments, etc. Maybe it's because my sinuses have decided that I (and the little) are deathly allergic to Tennessee in the fall (eff you right in the ear, goldenrod!), or maybe it's because "just walking around" the mall (I hate teenagers and career shoppers) or Hobby Lobby with a two-year old (I'd rather poke white-hot metal in my retinas) just isn't very appealing.
What brought upon this revelation, you may ask? Well, looking at my wardrobe (currently, a longsleeved t-shirt and cut off sweats), the fact that my toddler was rubbing my stubbly legs and laughing (hey, I could technically chalk that up as a Montessori sensory project - I am awesome), and that I'm excited for Thursday because it's parent-teacher conference (I'll finally hear the truth about so much, but that's another post all together) AND the book fair (!!!!) and I realize how lame I've become. We don't go to the park because we like to breathe through our noses (even though I'm temporarily a mouthbreather, ewg). I don't go walk around Target, because I'll buy shit I don't need. Asking a two-year old to sit still during story time at the library is laughable. Taking him anywhere that has items of a fragile nature is just begging me to hand over my checkbook.
I know, I know, this will pass. Opening the door will not result in me needing an IV drip of Dayquil soon, there will be lots to do outside where we won't feel like we're setting our lungs on fire, and before long, the little will understand that no means no, not "OOH, A CHALLENGE!" But until then, here's to another night in, brought to you by Papa John's and netflix. I might even shave. Watch out, now.