Like a murdering, junkie Mary Poppins

You know what I love?
Having to blog with a cat shoving her hind feet (claws out) into my derriere because she thinks we share joint custody of my office chair.
Hey, Diabetes Breath, you're on thin ice as it is, so perhaps you could remove your feet from my ass and go make me a sandwich before we decide to have you put down.

But my loathing for this cat that's not the point of this post; just an aside.

Moving on....

I want to talk to you about what's in my purse.

Because LORD KNOWS I've had some strange things in my purse.

Like this one time, when I reached into my purse and pulled out this knife that I had never seen before.
No joke.
I was all, how did THIS get in here?? and Brian was all, why are you carrying knives around in your purse like a creeper? and I was all I didn't put this knife in my purse. It's not even OURS. Look, it doesn't match our set and Brian was all ...woah and I was all...woah
At which time I concluded that some psycho killer lunatic slipped his murder weapon into my purse while I was out shopping or buying a latte or something.
Creepy.
And what's worse, we took it home and started USING it!! Because it was serrated and super sharp and way better than our dull crap K-mart knives.
I mean, I washed it first. But what kind of family uses some mystery killer lunatic murder weapon to cut their ciabatta bread for panini night??
THIS family does.
Which is why we're awesome.

And then this other time, when I asked Brian to go in my purse and grab a pen, and he pulled out a hypodermic needle, which ironically WAS mine this time. Granted, it was for infertility stuff and NOT to get a quick lunchtime fix, but I'm sure it still looked strage to the good people of TD Bank.

I believe it was around this time that Brian was convinced that I was booby trapping my purse, and next time he put his hand in there it'd come out with a bear trap around it. So now he's afraid to go within 3 feet of my adorable Vera Wang bag, which I find hilarious.

(Also, if I could get him to go in there again, I daydream of rigging it so a boxing glove springs out and punches him in the face. Now THAT would be funny)

But now, *sigh* I'm a mom. So I can't walk around with murder weapons, needles, or pop-out boxing gloves in my purse.

However, I find that being a mom lends to it's own ridiculousness in terms of purse contents. Sure, there's the occasional binkey, diaper, or clean (or dirty) bib. Sometimes there's a toy or burp cloth. Once in a while, it's a sock. (Always alone, without its mate)

But this last time, I found something particularly special in my purse:
the contents of my son's stomach.

While they both spit up regularly, Simon is a pro at spitting up at inappropriate times, and on inappropriate things. I don't hand him off to others without a a warning and a blanket to mop up what might come out. Many a time, I've been holding him and talking to someone, only to hear a *splat* and feel warm vomit dripping between my toes. But it would appear that one time he managed to get his spit-up INSIDE my purse, without me even realizing it.
Cut to hours (or days), later, when I reached in my purse to get a handful of sticky, slightly soggy, slightly stiff purse liner.

Gross.
Super gross.
Blech.

So I guess I can add that to the list of weird stuff that's been in my purse.
Personally, I think I'd prefer a boxing glove on a spring to vomit, only because rigged boxing gloves won't leave the stain (and the smell) that vomit leaves. Also because quite frankly I paid more for that purse than I did to conceive my children, and if I had to choose between the kids and the purse, it'd be a closer call than I care to discuss.

But yes. Simon puked in my Vera Wang bag.
Match, Set, Game.

I'm sure Mary Poppins didn't have to put up with that shit.