Young Love: Confessions Of A Broken Housewife

We’ve all been there..young and in love. We think, “This is it. This is going to last FOREVER.” We are so ready to grow up and start a family. I’m here to tell you, it’s not that glamorous. Also, it doesn’t always last forever. I wouldn’t trade my kids for the world, but if I could go back and have them later in life, I would. They would more than deserve it.

When I was 16, I met The Ex. He was The BFF’s boyfriend. We all went out to shop one day and, when we returned,  The BFF decided he was too shy for her. I told her he was nice and she should give him a shot. She promptly handed over his number and said, “If you like him, then YOU CALL HIM!” When he called her later, she handed me the phone. We became good friends. Right before my 17th birthday, he became my boyfriend. I will never forgive The BFF for that. (just kidding)

Our rocky, on/off high school relationship ended for a good 4 months right before graduation. I graduated and moved to Baton Rouge with a good friend for about a month, moved back, started nursing school, and was working full time at a dry cleaning place. I eventually reunited with The Ex, moved in, and decided I was in love. “This is it. This is going to last FOREVER.” Before I knew it, I was 20 years old, pregnant, unemployed, and had long quit nursing school.

Now, I’m 26, going through a dirty divorce, 2 kids, unemployed, and no degree to fall back on.

My advice?
*Stay in school. Finish college.
*Find a good job. Keep it.
*Birth Control. Children are wonderful. Have them later.
*DEPEND ON NO ONE BUT YOURSELF. The longer you wait to do it, the harder it gets.

As it turns out, Domestic Goddess doesn’t really have a spot on resumes.

And when you meet that guy that thinks you are beautiful with no makeup on, pushes your hair back out of your face so he can look you in the eyes, kisses your forehead, sends you “Good morning, beautiful.” texts, and does all the other things facebook quotes tell you guys should do, do me a favor:

Look deeply into his eyes, smile..then punch him in that pretty face and yell, “LIES!” Then go do your homework.

Household Cleaning and Organizing Done Right

People ask me all the time,

“L, what are your best house cleaning tips?”

Just kidding. No one asks me that. Ever. But I have the best kept house cleaning/organizing secrets ever. I’m going to share them with you today!

First, ask yourself, “Who makes the most messes around here? Husband or kids?” There are very different guidelines for each.

If you answered “kids”:

This one is more difficult than dealing with a hoarding, messy husband, but there are more options.

*You can try chore charts to teach responsibility. Have your kids put each toy or activity away before they are allowed to get out something else, clear their own plates, make their own beds..shit like that.

*Allowances work wonders. Reward the good behavior.

*Confine them to one small area of the house, preferably near a bathroom. Less area to clean & you have the rest of the house to yourself.

*Last, if all other options fail, check out your state’s Safe Haven Law. I think there are usually age limits, but I’m pretty sure those are just a suggestion. You will need to first convince your children that your full name is Mommy McMommerson. Tell them you are going to visit the firetrucks! It will be fun!

If you answered “husband”:

This one is so easy! I like to call it The D.I.V.O.R.C.E Method.

*D is for, well, Divorce.
*I is for dIvorce.
*V is for diVorce.
*O is for divOrce.
*R is for divoRce.
*C is for divorCe.
*E is for divorcE.

I don’t know why this isn’t more widely known as an effective method. It makes such a HUGE difference. You know that saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks”? Likewise, you can’t teach an old bastard to stop being a fucking pig.

I was an amazing housewife, truth be told. I clean a little, cook a little, and copulate a lot. I will not, however, be your mama. Put your dirty laundry in the laundry basket. Put your dirty dishes in the sink. Remember that thing you empty once a week, only because I killed you twice with my death glare when it overflowed? It’s called a trashcan. Put your damn trash in it.

Booooooom! Clean house.

*Disclaimer: Calm your tits. I do not actually advocate dropping your kids off at the fire station unless it’s necessary for their safety. The rest of this post is spot on. Trust me.

Am I Being Punk’d?

*Disclaimer: I’m writing this from my phone. My screen is cracked and extra punctuation is going to happen. This is not a typical post, it’s more of an explanation.*

It’s been a while, but I can explain..

I’m getting divorced.

Remember this post? Yeah, I’d just found out Hubby–who will be referred to as “The Ex” from this point on– had screwed my crazy crackhead neighbor. He didn’t “screw her over” or “screw together some furniture for her”. No, he straight up screwed her, baby makin’ style.

After almost 8 months of trying to work it out, other issues (with him) crept up. I realized I had never forgiven him for the affair, I was still bitter..resentful, and just not “in love”. Considering he called me a “cry baby” in February for not already being over it, we REALLY weren’t doing too well when I wasn’t over it 6 more months later. His new issues were too much and I was tired of trying to piece together something that had been FUBAR’d for months.

So, yeah, that’s where I’ve been. I didn’t quit writing for lack of material (he’s given me SO MUCH). I didn’t quit because I’ve been wallowing around in.self-pity. Trust me, I don’t need sympathy. I’m better than I’ve been in 10 years. No shit, my face is even clearing up. It’s just that– I’m still waiting on Ashton Kutcher to pop out and tell me that I’m being Punk’d. Not over the affair, but over the divorce filing aftermath. It’s been insane. I could legit be on Jerry.

In August, The Ex moved out. He begged me to hold off filing until he had more time to process what was happening. Somehow, even with my months of unhappiness, his numerous fuck-ups, and me admitting that I wasn’t in love with him, this was a huge surprise to him. HUGE. After he HACKED MY FACEBOOK and told everyone what he’d done, admitting to snooping through my things to see if I’d cheated (I’ve never in my life cheated and never will, not after having been through it myself), and begged me to take him back, I knew I was DONE-done. I know his intent was to apologize, but–you know–nothing says “I love you” like hacking a facebook, snooping, and humiliating your wife. Hellllo? I hadn’t told people what was going on FOR A REASON. Either way, out of pity, I decided to give him until the following Monday. Friday morning, I was served divorce papers. He was divorcing ME. Okay, that’s fine…on what grounds? Well, because I’m crazy. OF COURSE. Why else would I have stayed married so long?! I did see a psychiatrist for the ADHD and, after the affair, when my anxiety got bad again. Luckily, he was nice enough to write a letter stating that I was not insane.

All through September, I got calls and texts begging me to give him another chance. I didn’t respond. So, he took to harassing friends and family and spreading viscous rumors. More begging to take him back. Really?! Did you even READ the divorce papers you filed? Did you HEAR the things you were telling people as they came out of your mouth? Are you drunk? High? Probably. Probably both. Who knows, really.. Either way, NO! Just…no.

October comes and, suddenly, the calls stop. He isn’t calling the kids either. Toward the end of the month, I was in a wedding. I stayed at my grandmother’s so she could help babysit and so I would be closer to the chapel. While there, I brought all mine and kids’ clothing to do laundry. I had pretty much lived out of my car over the weekend out of fear that I would forget something for the wedding. After the wedding, I didn’t unload the car. I was too tired. While I was in bed, The Ex came and stole the car. Allllllll our stuff, including the carseats, were in there.

Early November, I got several calls that a female “friend” of his was driving my car around. Bitch was DRIVING. MY. CAR. Word was, they’d been seeing each other since early October..when the calls stopped. Let me make this crystal clear: I legit PRAYED that he would find a girlfriend. I had no issue with that. I wanted him to find someone else to obsess over, anyone but me. I was over it. Mid-November, we went to court. The car was to be returned back to me the following weekend.

Here it is, first week of December, and still no car. Supposedly, the girlfriend took my car and ran off with her ex. Fantastic. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

So, there is the drahmz. It doesn’t take up quite as much of my life as you would think. I struggled a lot in the beginning, but not so much anymore. I made a decision a few months ago:  I’m 26–a lot of life left, and I will keep nothing short of AMAZING people in my life from now on. I have some pretty amazing people in my life that make me far happier than he makes me miserable.

If we have a good relationship (friend, family, or otherwise) of some sort now or in the future, rest assured that I fucking love you and your presence. If you start sucking, you are out. GONE. Ain’t nobody got time fa dat! I’m not wasting anymore time on being miserable. 10 years was long enough.

If you, by chance, wonder if I will change the name of this..maybe. Maybe NEXT YEAR. This bitch is paid up until July!

Oh, The SHAME!

This photo is going around right now and, not surprisingly, many are calling it abuse. Mental abuse. Humiliating, yes, but..abuse? Ehh…

What say you good people out there? Is this mental abuse? What is your opinion on this type of discipline, in general?

Here is my comment on the post on Babble.com’s Facebook (plus a little more detail), summing up my opinion:

I can’t believe this is seriously being dubbed as abuse by some people. That’s laughable, at best. I got caught at a party when I was 15. My dad carried me and my best friend out over his shoulders. I was forever known as “the girl whose dad busted up the Hope Lake party”. It was humiliating! HOWEVER:

1.) Nothing my parents did led me to that party. I lied and left a football game to go. Peer pressure led me there.

2.) I didn’t lose respect for my parents. I still trusted them, though I was temporarily (very) angry. I understood even then WHY they did what they did.

3.) I learned a valuable lesson: don’t sneak off to parties, I will get caught. It wasn’t my last party, but it definitely slowed me down.

4.) To compare being humiliated for making a stupid choice to being abused HAS TO BE a serious slap in the face to anyone who has ever been mentally abused. My parents were not abusive and, in my opinion, neither is this mother.

5.) My parents are wonderful, amazing people. I love them and respect them. I have never feared them, but I did expect to be appropriately punished for things I did wrong. At 26, my mom is NOW my best friend. I thank God she didn’t try to be my BFF back then.

According to one reader, the mom said this in response:

“Some said the public humiliation would have long-term effects, that she would hate me forever for this. You have to know your child. I wouldn’t do this on my middle child because I don’t think she can emotionally handle it. But this one, she’ll be just fine. Yes, I got the ‘you’re ruining my life’ rant, but after a few hours, she was trying to figure out how she can start an organization at her school to raise awareness about social media responsibility.”

Your thoughts?

Cue Panic, Chaos, Confusion

Last I noticed, the kids were holding hands and dancing in the kitchen, directly in front of my open door. Unbeknownst to me, while I was Facebooking, the son acquired a screwdriver (Stop it. I know you are judging me. Stop.). Next thing I know, son runs toward something and stabs it. After a loud popping sound, Sugar screams, “You stabbed a hole in it!!” I see a cloud of something that looks like smoke…maybe aerosol something or other being sprayed. I jump up and run towards the cloud, screaming, “Get away from it! GET AWAAAYYY FROM ITTTT!!!! “…I don’t know what, exactly, I think is about to happen. Surely, it’s going to explode or something. The kids are inhaling toxic fumes of a substance not-yet identified!! It’s probably blinding them right now! Oh, GOD! It’s going to EXXXPPLLOOODDDEEE! RUN!!!!

So, as I approach the exploding aerosol can of toxic substance, I nearly bust my ass and get sprayed in the face by this stuff! I’m going to be blind, too! We’re all going to be BLIIINNNDD! I finally see the bottle of the deadly, blinding gas…

 

 

 

 

/areyoukiddingme

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s sprite.
/dead

Need to move some stuff! I’m BRIBING again!

http://qssdivx.com/chat.php

http://qssdivx.com/chat.php

http://qssdivx.com/chat.php

http://qssdivx.com/chat.php

I have an abundance of Crochet.Rock.It items that are already made and ready to move, and although I’m working on 2 different orders RIGHT NOW, I have the next week to work steadily on more (will be at parent’s with sitters! Woot!). So, I’m bribing you all with another coupon code:

UNDOMHOUSEWIFE10

Use it to get 10% off your order when checking out on http://www.etsy.com/shop/CrochetRockIt (opens in new tab) .

Accept it. I am awesome and you want to buy something from me, right? RIGHT?! Let me show you a few of my most recent additions to the store:

Ruffled Bottom Rainbow Bright Diaper Cover

Adjustable Ruffled Bottom Diaper Cover with Removable Flower

Minnie Mouse Bottomless Baby/Toddler Sandals

Crocheted Suede Cord Headband with Removable Rose (can be used solo as hair clip) for Adults

Crocheted Neapolitan Rose Hair Clips

Crocheted Suede Cord and Big Red Rose (not removable) Headband

Plus, there is more, so go check it out and help me move it! If you don’t find anything you want, pass along the coupon code (UNDOMHOUSEWIFE10) and link ( http://www.etsy.com/shop/CrochetRockIt ) to someone you think will! Don’t forget, I love custom orders!

HELP A BROKE BITCH OUT!

That is all. I will return soon with “Shit Husbands Do That Drives Us Crazy”. Be on the lookout!

PS,

I got a new Hair Did.

Oddly Comfortable With Myself..

I have spent the last 11 years or so trying to lose weight or “fix” my body in one way or another. Every year, I’d look at pictures of myself from the year before and I’d wish I still looked like that. In 2010, I was wishing I looked like I had in 2009. In 2011, I was wishing I looked like I had in 2010. I’d spend so much time on my scale and wishing I looked different, that I never appreciated how I looked at that time. I was never happy with myself.

I currently weigh about 10-15 lbs more than I did last summer; however, I weigh about 15 lbs less than I did 6 months ago. I started Abilify at the end of last summer and gained 30 lbs from mid-July til the end of October (when I quit taking the Abilify). Last year, when I first reached this weight–on my way UP in weight–I cried. This time–as my weight dropped back down to this weight, I am happy. I am comfortable.

I finally feel perfectly happy in the clothes that I wear. I know I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I don’t care. I am heavier than I have ever been naturally (meaning, not postpartum or due to medication), but I’m okay with that. My clothes fit fine, my husband thinks I look great (he’s an ass man, my weight gain works in his favor), and I don’t feel stressed. If my new medication makes me lose weight (common side effect), great. If I stay the same weight, great.

I still wear a bikini and don’t give a shit if some random person thinks I need to cover up. Too bad! I still wear shorts and dresses, and I have always hated my legs. It feels good to not hate them so much anymore.

One thing I do want to change, is my health. I eat crap food and should really start eating healthier. I’ll work on it. But, my focus is on getting healthy and gaining energy …maybe relieve myself of some of this constant brain fog. If I don’t lose an ounce, though, I won’t shed any tears.

I feel happier now and less stressed. My husband is happy with me and I’m happy with me, and that’s all that matters, right? Life is too short to stress about what everyone else thinks.

P.S.
I like Oreos.

P.S.S.
Abilify can suck it.

If Money Could Buy Love..

He’d have just bought himself at least another 10 years or so..

Hubby bought me this emerald 3 years ago while deployed in Afghanistan.  I’ve been telling him since the day he brought it home that I would like it set for a gift on the next big holiday (Anniversary, Christmas, Birthday..). I finally got it today. I initially just wanted a simple setting, but there is nothing simple about it! It is replacing my old wedding rings since they were damaged a few months ago. I am almost as in love with it, as I am with Hubby. 😉

I bitch about him, but I love that man!

Bottle of Wine: $19.99, Cheesecake: $8.49, Fifteen Minutes of Silence: PRICELESS

I love my family. I really, really do. Those 3 people are my heart, my life…they are my world. I really do LOVE being a stay at home mom and once both kids are in school, I will probably spend my days wishing I had these days back. I rant about them a lot, but I truly do enjoy my family.

Now, with that said, can everyone just calm the eff down for a minute? Please? Dayum!

Here is a little PSA:

Moms get over-stimulated, too!

All day long, the kids are yelling:

Mommy! Mommy! Mom..momma..moooommmmmmaaaaa! I’m hungry! I’m thirsty! Wipe me! I want chocolate milk! No, regular milk! I wanted JUUUIIICCCEEE! I said I needed to be wiped! Can I go outside? Can I come inside? Can I go pee? Can I sit down? Can I stand up? Can I spin in a circle? Can I breath air? Hey, mommy! Watch what I can do! OWWWWW! I did that thing you told me not to do and I hurt myself on the coffee table! WHY DID YOU PUT THE COFFEE TABLE THERE?! Little girls can jump off the couch and get HURT when you put coffee tables in the living room! FEEEEED MEEEEE!

Meanwhile, in the background, the tv is screaming:

Spongebob Squarepants, spongebob squarepants, spongebob squarepants, sponnnngebobbb squarepannnnnnts…

…and all I can do is lock myself in the bathroom for 2 minutes, sit in the empty tub, and rock back and forth while hugging my knees and loudly singing Livin’ On A Prayer. I pray that Hubby will hurry home to help out, but the second he walks through the door:

(((CHILDREN)), Hubby, [Television]

(((DADDDDDDDYYYYY!!!))) Hey! What have you been doing all day? (((I’m SOOO hungry!))) Where are my jeans? Can we eat? Did you lay anything out? [Spongebob Squarepants, Spongebob Squarepants..] (((*Samurai loudly sings made up song*))) Have you seen my shoes? Hey, will you come help me for a minute? Babe? Baby? (((Can I have a popsicle??))) Why do you look so stressed? I know, I’ll turn the TV up really loud– as though I have a legitimate hearing problem! That will make you feel better! (((Mom! Come in the bathroom..I pottied and it looks funny..))) About dinner..Why are your eyes burning holes into my skull? Oh, you want the TV louder? [It’s the best day EVVVEEERRRR..] (((She’s looking at ME!)))

My smidgen of remaining sanity… my livelihood… my ability to love–each relies heavily on two things:

My kids’ bedtime and Hubby’s nightly shower

Those 15-20 minutes are so refreshing. That’s all it takes to be reminded of all the reasons I’ve never actually run away. During that sacred time, I get to drink wine, I get to stuff my face with whatever junk I can find without anyone seeing the animal I really am, and I get to do it—in total frickin’ silence.

PRICELESS.

Bless His Heart

If you are from the south, you know that “Bless your/his/her heart” is usually just a way for Southerners to say something negative about someone without feeling guilty. It’s like saying “no offense” when you say something offensive or a way of saying that you pity someone. For example:

“She is so naive, bless her heart.”

“She’s a homely looking child, bless her heart.”

“He’s a dumbshit, bless his heart.”

In this case, regarding my husband, it means, “It’s your birthday. I pity you because, if you don’t stop being a douchebag, it might be your LAST birthday.”

Because of the fact that I have no means of transportation right now, my plans to go get a cake and a sweet card–went out the window. Instead, I decided to deep clean the worst room in our house: The Bedroom. Listen, y’all, that room seriously gets neglected–I admit it. Whenever we are in the other rooms cleaning, one of us asks, “Hey, where does this go?”, and the other almost always responds, “Hell, I don’t know. Throw it in the bedroom and shut the door!!” It’s the catch-all. We also have a serious problem with coming home from vacation and, rather than unpacking, living out of our suitcase until..well..until we go on vacation again. Don’t judge me!

Anyway, so, I decide to deep clean it. Hubby is always bitching about not being able to find anything and we are always kicking suitcases in the middle of the night, so I thought it would be nice. I worked my ass off. I actually broke a sweat. I know, gross, right? Luckily, I found my super strong muscle relaxers while I was digging through things. I needed those after tackling that mess. My back was, no, is throbbing and I am exhausted. I phone Hubby to see if he wants me to order some Outback Steakhouse to-go. It’s one of his favorites, so I figured it was a win-win for all of us. He says that, no, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t feel like having to stop to pick it up on the way home on his birthday. I explain that I am about dead and, since he needs help with his resume tonight, it would benefit us all. In comes the bitching…”Well, I don’t feel like stopping. I guess I will just come home and cook by myself on MY BIRTHDAY!” I’m all, “Dude, STFU. I didn’t ask you to come home and cook.” He bitches some more about me “whining” about my back aching (I’ve mentioned my bulging discs and arthritis, right?). I didn’t tell him about the bedroom initially– because I wanted to surprise him. However, at this point..I wanted to go sling shit around everywhere, completely destroying it, then yell, “Surprise, mutha fucka! Happy Birthday!” when he walked in, but decided against it.

Hubby gets home and starts moping around. I run out the door to get cake and come back as quickly as possible. When I return, the kids are telling me about how Daddy said he doesn’t even want cake. The fuck? The kids were so excited about getting him a cake and seeing him be excited. Jerk. Since his mood hadn’t improved and the bedroom door was still shut, I assumed he hadn’t been in there. I walk in the bedroom to put my purse down (I used his car key, by the way..because mine is still missing) and he walks in behind me. Finally! Maybe he will see what I have been doing all day, realize that I wasn’t bullshitting about being exhausted and in pain, and cheer up. He walks through the bedroom and goes into the bathroom without saying a word. I just sat there until he came out, thinking he would be all, “Wow!” on his way out. Nope. Not a single word. He just walked out. Just WALKED OUT.

The rest of the evening didn’t go any better. He continued to mope and wouldn’t eat dinner with us. I had to force him to come sit and let us sing Happy Birthday to him. My eyes had daggers shooting out of them at him. I wanted to yell, “Ever heard the song It’s My Party And I Can Be A Big Bitchy Baby If I Want To?! No? ME EITHER!”

Bless his heart, he might not make it through the night.