Tag Archives: Humor

Household Cleaning and Organizing Done Right

14 Dec

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.

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If you answered “kids”:

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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.

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*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.

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*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”:

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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.

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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.

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Cue Panic, Chaos, Confusion

31 May

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!

3 May

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.

Bless His Heart

6 Mar

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.

Remind Me To Never Put Things Where I Can Easily Find Them

6 Mar

It happens Every. Single. Time. And, please, tell me it happens to you too… I came home, put my purse down, and walked around for a bit while holding onto my keys. Realizing that my keys were still in my hand, I decided I should put them up before I accidentally lost them. My purse was too far away for me to bother walking, so I just stuck them in the first easy-to-remember-but-out-of-children’s-reach place I saw. Bad idea.

I woke up early this morning for my appointment. I was proud of myself–I was going to be able to get myself and the kids ready, then have time to kill before having to leave to get there 10 minutes early. I get ready, feed the kids, then head to grab something from my car…it’s locked. I walk into my bedroom, open my drawer–where I’m certain I left the keys, but the keys aren’t there. That’s right, I put them on top of the fridge. Hmm, not there either. Oh! My bedside organizer thing! Duh! Nope. On the shelf in the living room, by the door? Nah-uh.

WRONG! THEY AREN'T THERE!!!!

On top of the microwave?

On the coffee table?

In the bathroom, where I’ll see them while getting ready?

In my make-up bag?

In the laundry room?

Under my bed?!

Down under the couch cushions?!

In the box my new camera came in?!?!

Dear God, WHERE ARE THEY?!

My car is push-to-start and, I swear, I even carried the trash bag out to my car and held it up to the door while pressing the button and praying the door unlocked (I was not about to dig through the trash without being sure they were in there..). An hour of searching, and I still have no clue where they are. I finally called and rescheduled my appointment. It’s also Hubby’s birthday and I was supposed to go get his cake before he gets home from work. Now, he will likely come home to a completely destroyed house and find me stuck upside down in the big trash can…desperately searching for the keys. /WIFEFAIL

It’s just like when I hide things from the kids. I hide the thing I do not want them to find and–go figure—I’ve hidden it from myself, too. Why does this happen?

Why, God, WHY?!

It’s not just me, right? …..RIGHT?!?

When The Broom Sweeps The Floor By Itself, I’ll Actually Be Impressed

4 Mar

Spo0o0o0oky...Right?? (ignore the towel in the floor..the little shits spilled water)

So, the latest Facebook craze is Magical Broom Standing. For the last 2 nights, I have seen countless posts about how this phenomenon will “only work TONIGHT!!!1!!1!eleventy!”–because of something regarding the perfect alignment of the planets. After last night’s craze, I got up this morning and I took the above picture of my broom standing and posted it in hopes of debunking the myth. Unfortunately, my newsfeed is still full of broom pictures from people who only heard of it today, encouraging everyone else to try it–again–because it will only work tonight. /facepalm

I admit it, this is pretty cool and a great way to freak people out. My husband thought I had some Juju magic going on when I casually let go of the broom, leaving it standing on its own, while we were chatting. It was funny, but not magic. I’m going to let you all in on a little secret: What Hubby didn’t know was that, while I was holding the broom, I was also carefully…

BALANCING IT!

That’s right, y’all. It’s a freaking balancing act! The thing is, the bristles are flexible enough to spread to distribute the weight evenly, yet firm enough to support the weight..allowing it to balance and stand up all by itself. Okay, okay.. that explanation is totally just my own theory, but it definitely isn’t planet alignment.

*****UPDATE*****
Well, y’all, it is morning of March 4th (originally posted this last night) and I have some shocking news…

MY BROOM CAN STILL STAND ON ITS OWN!!!1!1!!!

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My eggs stand, too!

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Go ahead, try it. You know you want to…

Leave me a comment and let me know if it works for you..

Love Always, Your Concerned Wife

28 Feb

Last night, Undermedicated Housewife (my crazy side) came out during an argument. It started out as a discussion, but quickly escalated. Discussion to Argument Progression went something like this:

Political Story –> Politics In General –> Rick Sanctimoron –> Birth Control –> Vasectomies –> Undermedicated Housewife

Now, let me give you some back-story (in as few words as possible):

About 5 years and 3.5ish months ago, I was in a hospital bed thinking I was about to die. I was pregnant with my daughter and suffering from severe pre-eclampsia. I was being induced at 34 weeks because my blood pressure was through the roof. I can’t remember exact numbers, but on a scale of Kate Moss to Chris Farley, I was pretty close to a John Candy. Between the magnesium, blood pressure induced migraine, pitocin, and failed epidural…I was in the most severe pain of my life, and that is considering that I have had 2 spinal surgeries, 3 abdominal surgeries, 3 eye surgeries, and a couple of other surgeries. Seriously, I had never felt such pain…until it happened again.

Pregnancy number 2 was a disaster. My chances of having another run-in with pre-e were fairly low, but–you know–I am always one to beat the odds! Around 25-26 weeks (my due date was questionable), I woke up so swollen that I fell down when the swelling prevented my feet from bending enough to stand flat. Four days later, I’m in the hospital about to go back for my urgent cesarean. I had a huge team of doctors at the foot of my bed explaining the risks of the surgery, the risks to my unborn son, and the risks of ever getting pregnant again. After being told that my son only had a 50/50 chance of survival and, if he survived, he would have a 50/50 chance of having CP..my brain went fuzzy. I do, however, remember hearing them tell me that, because of the fact that I had gotten pre-e again–more severe and at an earlier gestation, another pregnancy had a high risk of being even worse..potentially fatal for me and the unborn. They all nodded in agreement at the suggestion of permanent birth control. Because of my blood pressure, staying in longer than necessary in order to tie my tubes was another risk. Hubby agreed to getting a vasectomy, instead.

About 6 months later, we are discussing the vasectomy and Hubby starts backing out. When researching the risks of a vasectomy compared to the risks of tubal ligation, he managed to find a website dedicated to reasons why men should NEVER have a vasectomy. I’m fairly sure he found it on Google search pg 1,247, because everything I found on the first several pages stated that the vasectomy was far, far easier and less risky. After my family, his family, and I continued to urge him to do it, he was finally convinced.

The whole procedure lasted about 10 minutes. I was so grateful that I had a husband who was willing to give up 10 minutes of his life, take on a minimal risk, and live with a tiny scar on the underside of his scrotum..just to prevent any chance of me getting pregnant and, you know, dying.

Now, lets review:

  • Pregnancy and childbirth almost killed me–twice
  • The pre-e also nearly caused the death of our son
  • The pain was the worst I have ever felt, worse than the broken back and hole ripped in my stomach–which I have also experienced
  • I had one child vaginally with no help from an epidural
  • I had one child via major abdominal surgery
  • Future pregnancy will likely kill the unborn and, possibly, me
  • Hubby had an easy, low risk procedure as a method of birth control for us

So, last night, we get on the subject of birth control and vasectomies. Hubby suddenly declares that no man should ever have a vasectomy. Um, WHAT? He goes on to explain that, when we do that thing that used to lead to babies, it HURTS. Bad. This is really confusing news to me. Why does he always WANT to inflict pain on himself, then? Anyway, because of this pain he so often feels, if he could go back, he would have never gotten it done. In comes the outraged Undermedicated Housewife with a response:

You know what else hurts, asshole?!?! DYING!!

I really wasn’t fair, to be honest. I have no idea what dying actually feels like. He suffers from real pain and I should have been more considerate.

To express my regret for acting so psycho over his innocent statement, I wrote him a letter:

Dear Hubby,

I am sorry I freaked out on you last night. You expressed that certain activities caused you pain and I was cold about it. I was selfishly only thinking of myself, the trauma pregnancy causes, and that pesky death risk. Judging by the level of pain you said you feel and the frequency of your requests to inflict such pain upon yourself, you must really love me. Clearly, you are only encouraging these activities for my benefit. That makes me feel really awful. Since you made such a huge sacrifice for me, I am going to do the same for you. I will make it my priority to ENSURE that you never feel that pain again. I just can’t handle having that guilt on my conscious…or vagina.

Love Always,
Your Concerned Wife

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