....Wife Duties

I was loafing around on Pinterest the other day and came across a friend's pin. This is an article supposedly from an Econ book in the 1950s. I literally almost shit my pants from laughter and shock. I swear the mother smiling in the picture looks like she is baked and secretly telling her husband to go f____ himself. The children look like they are playing the game "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." The photo itself screams dysfunction. The words typed below scream borderline human trafficking. I would pay money to bitch slap the author of this piece of work. Even if this article is fake, there is a hidden message that I feel has been passed down from generation to generation. The message being surrender yourself to becoming someone else's bitch for the rest of your life and love doing it because it is your job.

After I wiped the tears away from laughing and choking, I started to think about my home life. The three days I am with the Divas all day are pretty scary. The fighting, screaming, crying, and whining can be brutal to my mental health. How many times can you plead with them to sit down and stop it? Some days, I totally understand what may drive someone to try Meth. Don't judge me....I have a four year old whose only speed is "hard". She screams hard. She hits hard. She laughs hard. She scratches hard. She bites hard. She talks hard. She loves hard. She has no middle. She is either full throttle or sick. By the time the SBF comes home, I'm speaking softly alright. I am whispering that he can go to hell if he leaves me one more day with his children. As he tosses them around on a bed that I just made, I try not to scream as I watch my pillows get tossed on the floor. The sheet from my once perfectly made bed has become a parachute. The children are filthy and I grimace as their dirty ass feet prance around the bed as he sings with them. There is no food cooked because they have eaten shit all day. The dishes are dirty. The washing machine is rocking back and forth like a space ship because I am washing the 12 towels used to clean up spills that day. The only thing fresh on my body is the booger that Brooklyn wiped on my shirt. I stand there at the bedroom door and I just look at them. Every once in a while, I see the beauty in the moment. They love their daddy so, but most of the time I stand there toying with the definition of abandonment or how bad is a place with padded walls. I wait for my turn to be interesting for him alright. I inform him that his daughter must have a tape worm because she digs in her ass all the time. The other daughter walks into walls on a regular basis. And his third daughter refuses to embrace the importance of deodorant.

I am pretty sure this guide lead to a constant sense of failure and lack of fulfillment because it's unattainable. There are not enough brainwashing techniques out there to convince a mother/wife this is their destiny in life. So, I started thinking of a guide for the mother/wives of the 21 century.

1. Prepare yourself by having a cocktail at 4 pm & again at 5 pm. Drink the cocktails very fast. This will cause you to feel refreshed and gay. The stronger the cocktail, the easier it will be to pretend to listen to him talk about his day. He will sound like the Charlie Brown teacher and eventually mute.
2. Grab all of the toys, leggos, crayons, paper, clothes, dolls, cars, and shoes and toss them in the backyard. If he decides he would like to retire on the patio and relax, he will have the most beautiful display of chaos in the backyard.
3. You are not crazy no matter what they say or how they look at you when you start slinging pots in the kitchen. So, while cooking make sure to slam enough doors to scare the shit out of them. This will hopefully give you a couple minutes of silence.
4. When he walks in the door, punch him in the throat immediately. This will allow him to feel the choking sensation you were succumbed to all day because your children won't listen.
5. If he comes home late or suggests that he is going to meet the fellas after work, light a fire and line up all of his shit in the living room.
6. Be so interesting when he comes home that he will wonder if you drank more than just a bottle this time. Note: hide the bottles. The less he knows the better.
7. Wait outside with the children when it's time for him to come home. As soon as he pulls in the drive way, return to the house and deadbolt the door.
8. Hide the remote before he comes home. When he settles down to zone out to 5 recorded episodes of PTI, he will get the exercise he needs searching for the remote. Remember you need a healthy provider.
9. When he falls asleep before the children are bathed and the dishes are washed, pick up his phone and change his ringtone, text message alerts, and email alerts to every Disney Princess theme song. This will keep him alert and on his toes.
10. Know your place....you are the glue that holds all of the shit together. The good shit and the bad shit and for this you deserve the world.

I know many will read this and think "she wouldn't....". Well if I had to pick between the two guides, pretty sure the last one meshes with my domestic capabilities. 

...vacation hangover

Today, I literally crawled into work. I am normally greeted by strange looks from my coworkers. I only work two days a week and I can sometimes be a human resources nightmare, so I am never shocked by their looks. BUT today, I knew I looked like shit. I was disoriented, sleepy, and angry.

I looked like I had been out all night. I secretly wished I could share some story of how I got shit faced and passed out and literally just rolled out of bed. It took me two days to unpack from our vacation and get some order back to our house. PLUS...we have no live TV, so it's very f_______g quiet right now in our house...too quiet and my SUV broke down. The Divas have decided to sit up under me for going on 48 hrs. They have 2 bedrooms, a playroom, and a living room. I find it very hard to share my bedroom with 3 girls and 9 American Girl Dolls. Get the hell out!!! My energy is drained and my ability to talk to people in a nice way has gone to shit.

Anyway, I sat at my desk wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I knew I was a little off because I forgot to get my Xanax refilled before the holiday/weekend, but this was some serious irritation.

As I sipped my coffee and aggressively tapped on my keyboard in efforts to respond to a massive amount of emails, I finally realized what was going on......VACATION HANGOVER!!!

Damnit to hell!!!! That's it...I then found the perfect definition of Vacation Hangover compliments of Urban Dictionary:

The pain of returning to the reality of your real life after experiencing a vacation you wish was your real life.

Sufferers of Vacation Hangover will often feel anger or resentment within the first week post vacation and question the decisions they have made leading them to where they are and the things they do on a daily basis.

They may find themselves daydreaming of a different life, lingering nuggets of joy from memories of where they were or what they were doing on vacation.

Sufferers might even try to invent imaginary ways to make the vacation life they were living a reality. Only to find themselves more miserable than they were before they even left on vacation to begin with.

An example of vacation hangover is when a mother and father of 3 small children go on vacation without the kids. They visit Tokyo! They sleep in, eat amazingly fresh sushi, attend a Japanese Punk Rock concert, take naps in the middle of the day, and eat their fabulous meals at odd times.

The parents return to their regular lives. The father is working 80 hours a week at a meaningless job he hates. The mother is mopping pee off the bathroom floor, breaking up sibling rivalry, and cleaning up a sloppy diaper while slathering rash cream on her baby's sore bottom. The baby screams in pain, someone else throws a toy at Wife's head, and another child is crying because the computer isn't playing the RIGHT kind of train movie.

Both parents really enjoyed their time in Tokyo and struggled returning cheerfully to their real life.

I was at peace when I realized I was not alone. Alright, I know what I have. Now, how the hell do I get rid of it???? I have come up with a list that I offer to you to help with vacation hangovers:

10 VACATION HANGOVER CURES: 

(shit I should have done instead of staring off into space about car and cable issues).

1. Do not go back to work on a Monday after a vacation. You will not get shit done anyway. So stay at home and nap. Enjoy your home. Find the beauty in it again.
2. Find a happy hour to visit after your first full work day. If you have been sipping Mimosas on the beach for 5 days straight, your body is going through shock. You need a drink!!
3. Unpack as soon as possible. The longer your luggage is out...the more it will remind you of the fun you had.
4. Change your sheets ASAP. You have been snoozing on more than likely a pretty comfy white bed. Clean sheets will calm the soul. It's a way of tricking your body into thinking it's in a hotel.
5. Post your vacation pictures as soon as possible. This will always accelerate the transition. You will notice little bolts of energy. If you wait too long, you will get f_______ depressed looking at them.
6. Stay away from anyone who seems like they are remotely happy about you being back from vacation. They didn't miss you. They want you back to suffer in REALITY.  Your senses will pick up on this and you will want to punch them in the face.
7. Ignore your inner voice that is asking "What do you want to do with your life?" This is not a voice of reason. This is a fictional what if Santa Claus was real voice.
8. Find something to laugh about. I swear I spend numerous hours a day searching Pinterest humor, Blunt cards, and Some ecards when I need a good laugh. Today: I watched numerous Kevin Hart videos and thought I would piss myself from laughing so hard.
9. Please find activities for your children. The busier they are...the more rest you get. No child wants to see mom go ape shit because she just heard someone say they were bored. 
10. PLAN ANOTHER TRIP ASAP 

If this does not help any, I recommend you make a batch of Mother's Cure. See post titled "Mother's Cure" for recipe.

...Dear French 75

Dear French 75 (aka as French 57 according to my FB post or Heinz 57 according to my FB friends),

I am writing a letter to thank you for a wonderful evening, but it's over. After a long week of work and kids, I was hoping to unwind after a successful committee meeting. You were my poison of choice. Obviously, I was feeling classy and on top of life. Your citrusy taste was refreshing to my soul. The hint of gin reminded me of my college years. My last encounter with gin lead to me taking
my tights off during a football game and shouting "Gin will make you sin!" The champagne was my savior. As I sipped your sweet nectar, I could feel my mouth finally relaxing. No longer was I the mother walking around with her teeth clenched and her hands in tight balls. I was a woman. I was not a "light weight". I was feeling strong.

I thank you for making me believe it would be a great idea to mix you with a delicious but rather spicy plate of shrimp and grits. I was able to ignore the runny nose and sweating. I could feel no pain. I would like to thank you for convincing me to have another round. By this time, I was the least bit phased by the thunderstorm that caused the lights to go out in the restaurant. I was more concerned with a phone call home at which time I discovered that my husband had gone to Target with our children. HOW DARE HE DO THIS TO ME? I LOVE TARGET.

I would like to thank you for making me feel so great about life that I gave you a FB shout out at which time I discovered Kathy Lee Gifford was at the same location. Without thinking twice, I grabbed the first waiter I could find in the dark and asked "Where is she?" Luckily, she was gone. I was not at my best. Thank you for convincing me it would be a great idea to go get something out of my car during a monsoon and then return to the restaurant to finish chatting up with my friends. Never mind that I was soaking wet and weaving between tables in the dark.

Thanks for bringing out my alter ego "Lohan" short for Lindsey Lohan on the way home. My circle of friends were quite entertained with phone calls and texts because I am sure they have missed her. Lohan is often the life of the party and is notorious for surfacing at Snoop Dog concerts and football events. She does not mind puking all over the steps of a building in front of everyone nor does she mind passing out in her yard.

The SBF and kids came home to find Lohan soaking wet and passed out across our bed. A shining moment that will go down in the books. Thanks for the massive headache that woke me up at 6 am. Thanks for knocking off those last 5 lbs I wanted to lose before our vacation on Monday. I never knew my body could produce something that resembled that of Heinz 57 sauce. Thank you for allowing my husband to sleep through my screams "I am on fire!" He needed his rest.

Most of all thank you for allowing me to forget that I have responsibilities called CHILDREN. Children that could give two shits about a hangover. They have to eat. Children that don't care how much my head hurts. They want to give me a play by play about how they stayed up till midnight watching a scary movie because daddy said it was okay. Thanks for allowing my youngest to practice her "beauty shop" skills on my head. An idea I came up with, so I could sleep on the couch in the playroom. My hair had dried into an "old school Al Sharpton hair do". Now it's a shiny from a massive amount of leave in conditioner and grease that I allowed her to put in my hair just to sleep. I look like f------g James Brown.

Thank you for giving me the strength to venture out to Wal-Mart without a shower, without brushing my teeth, and sporting dirty clothes to get the damn beach toys and towels that I promised to buy the girls today. Dehydrated and delusional, I spent an obscene amount of money on noodles, pails, shovels, kites, glow sticks, glow necklaces, glow bracelets, goggles, sand molds, sand shakers and Fourth of July light up things. My disguise of choice...sunglasses and a hat fooled no one. I thoroughly enjoyed running into coworkers and friends. I appreciate them listening to me when I warmed them "don't come to close. I am hung over."

So, f--- you French 75!! It was good while it lasted, but I must move on. I just have no room for you in my life. Thanks for the one night stand and the unexpected bitch slap at the end. You may have won this slap off contest, but you hit like a bitch. That Mother's Cure has done far more damage and has been with me through the good times and the bad times for a couple of years now. She has my heart. I will never stray away...unless Prosecco comes to visit.

Sincerely,

My two middle fingers

...Mother's Cure

I looked at our calendar on the fridge last night and was floored with the date. Is it really almost July? Where has the summer gone? Holy hell the madness of back to school will be here before we know it. I was shocked by the anxiety that I felt. Am I anxious because I will miss them or is it homework? Is it the fact that the youngest is entering preK and the bitch barely knows her numbers? Is it the fact that everyone that resides in this house thinks that I am a walking Wikipedia?

With summer comes the welcoming of pool parties, porch parties, beach parties, splash parties, slip n slide parties, and any gathering that involves enjoying the weather, the sunsets, and the fireflies with family and friends. With it also comes hours spent at a hot ass park or pool while you watch your child do the same stupid ass flips over and over again. The profanity increases and exhaustion starts to eat away at all of your hopes, dreams, aspirations, and desires.

So, let's celebrate this last week in June with a cocktail!! Let's take our cups and fill them and toast to not running away just yet. Let's toast to the fact that our cups truly runneth over. What should our poison of choice be? Try one of my fave drinks to serve called Mother's Cure.

The recipe is listed below and I swear it will cure the shitty summer blues, the tired as hell blues, and the what the hell am I doing with my life blues. Let today be a mother's cure movement. It's time. I see us moms in the grocery stores, the department stores, gas stations, toy stores, book stores, and you name it. I see the illness eating away at our souls in all of us. You have to have the summer blues. It's very easy to diagnose being that I am currently a victim. The kids are winning and we must fight back.

Today, I will cure myself from the sheer rage I  felt when I was talking to the SBF this morning....

SBF: I really need to get on my lesson plans for the girls this summer. They will have all of July to
work on the assignments.

Bubble over my head: WTF did he just say? Lesson plan...HELL NAW!! He can kiss my ass. HE IS
NOT A TEACHER. HE HAS NO TEACHING EXPERIENCE. Jesus be my shield

ME: Really? I think the girls are fine. Miss B will eventually learn that the last letter of her name
does not start with the number 14. Also, the teaching methods have changed so much that we may
teach them the wrong method.

SBF: Well, it's not the method I am worried about. I'm going to focus on common core.

Bubble over my head: I have had less than five hours of sleep. I really don't give a shit if these kids
can read right about now. AND you travel mister. So, who the f______ is going to implement this
lesson plan/common core shit? NOT IT!!!!! Why does he say stupid shit in the morning? Is this real
life?

ME: Great idea. I'm going to go back to sleep for a couple of minutes. I suddenly have a headache. I
guess the sleep deprivation is catching up with me. (POSITIVE THINKING)

As I rolled over to stare off into the abyss, I said a little prayer...

Dear Lord, please let there be enough Tito's in the cabinet for my Mother's Cure. And watch over my children and husband today. Put your arm around my shoulder, your hand over my mouth, and your foot upon my foot...so that I will not kick the SBF in his throat this morning. AMEN 


So get cured now because the madness will not get better...it will just change in a couple of months. I command you to call up your frands, invite their kids if you have too, get some buckets and a water hose (no this will not lead to waterboarding), and put them outside to play. Don't bother with something fancy!! Just do it. Cheers!!!

 Mother’s Cure

•    12 oz frozen pink lemonade concentrate                              

•    1 lemonade container full of vodka

•    3-12 oz beers

•    2-12 oz sprites

 Stir together, chill and enjoy!



A comment from a friend's mother after having just one cup of Mother's Cure:

 "I don't know what's in Mother's Cure, but I been cured." 

 

Let me know what you think!!

 



 

A while back, Southern Living, did a write up on how people party for games in Oxford, MS. They came by our tent and took a picture and wrote down the recipe for Mother's Cure. Let's hope we see this recipe in Southern Living one day. 

Public Service Announcement: Please drink responsibly. Many of my friends both female and male have been found ass up and face down in the grass or finding themselves toying with how much fun streaking would be!!