Tag Archives: sahm

Dang, Anything Else?

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I’m hungry!  I’m not hungry!  I’m tired!  I’m not tired!  I’m hot!  I’m cold!  Pick me up!  Put me down!  Fix me some food!  I’m thirsty!  I want ketchup!  I didn’t like it because it had ketchup on it!  I need to potty!  I already pottied!  I peed in my pants!

BREATHE!  1…2…3…4…5…fuck this counting shit.  It only takes me 3.5 seconds to open a bottle of wine.

These three curtain climbers can be the source of my greatest joy and my greatest stress.   I know that there are those sanctimonious martyr mom bitches that say “Children are gifts from heaven.  I like to spend every waking second with my children and any mother that takes two seconds to herself is selfish and she should have thought about that before she had kids.”.  Well, to her, I say: fuck the fuck off.  I love my kids but I don’t have to like my kids 24/7.  Any parent that says they do is either A) Lying or B) Full of shit.  You see, I don’t think admitting that makes me a bad mother.  I would give my life for any of my children and there are days when I feel like my children are trying to kill me themselves, with a plan they have secretly concocted to make my fucking head explode.

My husband works out, pretty much everyday.  Whether he runs or goes to the gym, that is his daily time to blow off some steam.  For some reason, some group of uptight bitches got together and decided that squeezing a kid out of your vagina suddenly rendered women impervious to stress.  These are the same bitches that decided that admitting that being a mother was hard or a mother needing her own personal time out was a sign of failure.  They got the word out and it spread quickly.  Women are so fucking afraid to admit that they aren’t perfect mothers or that they don’t ever feel overwhelmed or that they want to be able to have a little time to themselves.  Well, guess what?  I’m not.  At times, my kids make me want to stand in the middle of the street and scream a steady stream of expletives.  I want to pull my damn hair out!  I think to myself, “I wonder why kennels for kids never caught on?”.  So, I make sure that I get my own “time outs”, at least once or twice a week.  If that means that one or a few of my friends gather on my patio or on one of their patios, as God as our witness, we are going to gather, dammit!  And, there will be wine!  Oh yes!  There will be wine.  It is our therapy.  We bitch and vent and then we end up laughing about all those things that we thought were going to push us over the edge a few hours earlier.  Thankfully, I have surrounded myself with a group of friends that are equally as honest about how imperfect they are as mothers.  There isn’t any judgment, just wine.  You have to have wine! 

I jokingly tell my husband that I am going to the gym when I have plans for a girls’ night in.  Becoming a mother doesn’t make your needs suddenly irrelevant.  It doesn’t mean that you are no longer entitled to or in need of some personal time.  If anything, it makes it even more necessary.  Adults need to interact with adults.  Adults need to have conversations  in which the words Caillou, Sprout, poopy diaper and Toy Story are not brought up.   Adults need to have times when they are not required to break up fights between preschoolers.  Adults need to have friends to drink wine and bitch with because drinking alone is frowned upon.

If you want to hole up in your home and immerse yourself only in your children and their interests and topics of conversation, be my guest.  My money is on your future admission into a mental hospital. Good luck with that.

I love my bitches.

Can’t Talk to a Psycho Like a Normal Human Being

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Have you recently found yourself saddled with a knocked up wife, girlfriend, sister or friend?  Men:  If you put the baby in there, you have  no one to blame but yourself.  You didn’t talk her into the abortion.  Suck it up, buttercup.  You pulled the trigger, you finish the race.   Here are some tips and warning signs to help you get through these nine months alive.

You may ask yourself, “what the fuck is her problem?”.  Let me tell you a few of her problems:

  • She has, most likely, been forced to disregard the slightest degree of germaphobia the moment her body decided to reject the Taco Supreme with extra sour cream it had been screaming for only moments earlier, forcing her to embrace and shove her head into a receptacle that has hosted almost as many asses in its career as Richard Simmons in his.
  • Do you enjoy being stabbed repeatedly in the pubic area?  If so, you would LOVE round ligament pain.
  • Not having a period is one of the touted benefits of pregnancy.  Don’t put those tampons in storage just yet, you can still find a use for them now that your nose is going to be the one with a period!  If you are like me, it will be almost daily!!
  • Weight gain!  Because nothing says “I’m bringing sexy back” like elastic waistbands.

If you are interacting with a pregnant woman, don’t ever assume you are safe.  Always consider her armed and dangerous.  Even if the only weapon in her arsenal are the countless hormones surging through her body, be afraid.  Be very afraid.  Signs you should abandon your mission and run:

  • Tears.  Even if it just looks like her eyes might be watering, take no chances.  Run.
  • She suddenly stops talking or responding to you and only stares, even if she is being directly addressed or questioned.
  • Her only response or contribution to the conversation is a flat “whatever.”.
  • Her stomach growls.

Dads:  Are you feeling neglected?  Left out?  Have you tried to give her the business only to find she has closed up the shop?  Maybe she wants the business but the realization that her vagina is soon going to transport a tiny, screaming human larvae into the world has rendered you impotent.  Either way, you can revive your sex life.

Are you being rejected?  You are going to have to play a little hardball but, remember, all is fair in love and war.  You have to make her want you to want her and that is going to mean you have to hit her in the ego.  It is kind of like high school:

  • Strategically but noticeably  place stretch mark cream amongst her beauty supplies.
  • When you both get in bed, pull out the latest issue of “Hotties with Vacant Uteri” and your favorite lotion and go to work.  If she interrupts, take your tools into another room and tell her that she is spoiling the moment.
  • Look at older photos and compliment her pre-pregnancy hips.

If the problem is that you can’t get the soldier to salute, there are a couple of solutions:

  • Admit that you are gay.  I mean, seriously.  Pregnant or not, most men won’t turn down an available vagina.  Not to mention, her boobs have, at least, doubled in size.  That is nature’s distraction.  If this is the case, get her to pull her hair up in a baseball cap and roll her over.
  • Medicine

You are welcome.  This could end up being another series.

How to be a good parent with good kids:

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  • Use your resources.  The TV, for instance, is better and cheaper than a nanny.  You turn it on, it keeps the kids quiet and occupied and, in most cases, it is even teaching them something.  Then, at the end of the day, you don’t have to hear the television tell you about where you are falling short as a parent. 
  • There is nothing wrong with a little healthy competition.  Make a ranking chart and put on the refrigerator.  You can call it the “Mommy’s Favorite Board” or something to that effect.  At the beginning of every day, gather the children around and rank them from top to bottom on the chart.  Explain that the top spot is mommy’s favorite and go on to explain why/how they made that position (they did this favor, they didn’t talk back, etc).  Let all the children know that this order can change at any moment, without notice.  Make sure to take any reason to go switch the order and appoint a new favorite.  This is even more effective if the favorite gets some sort of privilege.  It really gets the kids in line.  Sure, the experts will rag on and on about damaging their self esteem, long term damage and blah, blah, blah but fuck that noise.  If they maintain the “mommy’s favorite” position, their self esteem will be fine.  It is a long term goal to teach them to strive for along with the short term reward.
  • Drink.  If you haven’t already, after having children is a good time to take up drinking.  Don’t listen to these fuckwit sanctimommies that go on and on about it being irresponsible or that the minute your piss makes the line on the magic plastic stick, you are no longer allowed to be remotely selfish.  I like my “me time” and I like it a lot better when there is a bottle of wine to keep me company.  You thought alcohol was important the day after you turned 21?  It is a requirement of a good parent.  They should hand out bottles of wine and liquor to parents in the hospital. 
  • Force your children to subscribe to gender stereotypes from birth.  Do not let little boys like pink or even touch your purse or a doll, regardless of whether he is 6 months or 6 years old.  If he does any of the above, he will most likely grow up and want to fondle and marry other boys.  If he shows interest in a toy kitchen, for instance, slap his hand, tell him that cooking is woman’s work and make him look at a Playboy magazine, while holding a truck in one hand and a hunting rifle in the other.  If your daughter wants to play with her brother’s toy tool set and you let her, you might as well go buy her a wallet chain and a Melissa Etheridge album.
  • Do not talk to children about sex.  That is sick and inappropriate and it should never be discussed.  If your children express any curiosity or ask questions regarding sex, tell them that sex is bad and thinking about sex, talking about sex or having sex before marriage is a one way ticket to hell.  Discussion over.  
  • If your children yell at you or talk back or are disrespectful in general, buy them something and apologize for angering them. If you tell your child to clean his/her room and he/she screams back “NO!  Fuck you, mom!  You clean my fucking room!  I hate you!”.  Obviously, you have done something to upset or offend your precious angel and it must be resolved.  In order to make amends, you should clean his/her room and/or go buy a present for your disgruntled child/teen and beg for forgiveness.  This can also apply to incidents when teacher call to discuss your child’s behavior.  You know that bitch probably has a vendetta against your precious little baby and/or is jealous of you and is taking it out on him/her.  When she tells you that little Junior told her to shove her book up her ass, you make sure and ask her what she has against your child and what she did to provoke his/her response.

This is parenting, people, not rocket science.  Now, go have a drink.

Time out or a wooden stake?

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He is so adorable and so chubby and sweet looking, I never saw this coming.  He runs over, staring at you with his big brown eyes, and at the last minute he opens his mouth and sinks in those teeth.  Yes.  It is true.  I can barely say it out loud but here goes:   My youngest child has OBVIOUSLY turned into a vampire.  At the slightest provocation, he is willing to sink his teeth into any exposed patch of flesh to satisfy his thirst for blood.

I have been doing some research, since coming to terms with my son’s transformation into one of hell’s minions but the information is conflicting.  One researcher says that vampires cannot go out in daylight or they will spontaneously combust or something similar, while another says that vampires can, in fact, go into the sunlight and their skin will sparkle as if they had their entire body vagazzled.  So, I am confused.  My son can go out into the sunlight without bursting into flames but he does not look like a fairy that was rolled around in a truckload of glitter, either.  Do you think he might have some form of vampire eczema that could explain this or do I accept the other research that says that the glitter skin is bullshit?

Most of the research tends to agree that vampires possess some degree of powers and some research indicates that they can hypnotize or “glamour” their victims.  He DOES possess this ability.  He can look at you and you will believe that he is going to approach you and hug you or kiss you and then, suddenly, he is going in for the kill!  I need to create some sort of warning system so that unsuspecting innocents can be made aware that he is a demon cleverly disguised as a little, chubby angel.  Don’t be fooled.
I have tried to time out and he continues to try to make meals of the family.  I am conducting further research on how to remedy or tame him.  I would prefer to consider staking as an absolute last resort.

You wish you could just do nothing all day, like me?

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I can't tell you how irritated I get when people attempt to camouflage their blatant effort to marginalize and insult me with feigned envy.  Give me a fucking break.  I am not an idiot.  If, however, you think that being a stay at home parent, one with three children, no less, is a cake walk, you have another thing coming.  The next time you think to yourself or say out loud to friend or relative that is a stay at home parent, "It must be nice to not have to work." or "I wish I could just sit home all day and do nothing, like you.", do me a favor and punch yourself in the face.  Let me walk you through a typical day of this stay at home mom:

1)When I wake up in the morning, I feel NOTHING like P. Diddy, unless Diddy is used to being gently waken by the shrill, unwavering sounds of a two year old yelling “MOM! MOM! MOM!”, demanding to be released from his crib at 7:30 AM.  Most of the time, when I walk in to release my pudgy alarm clock from his bed cage, I am slapped in the face with the overwhelming aroma of the good morning gift he has provided for me in his pants.  On a couple of occasions, he has gone that extra mile to wish me a happy day by removing his diaper and painting me a beautiful shit mural.

2)By the time I have him up and changed, the other two are up and are already fighting over breakfast or television or chairs or who is going to get what bowl.  I can ignore them for a little while but, eventually, their bickering penetrates my ignore field and I have to intervene and referee just before or by the time it comes to blows.

3) I think about doing laundry.

4)I have to stop the older two children, at least 22 times, from killing each other over whether or not purple is better than green

5)I become convinced that the youngest must have some sort of intestinal disorder because I do not remember either of the other ones shitting as often as he does on a daily basis.  Seriously.  He should not weigh this much, given his output rate.

6)I decide to do laundry and as I am heading into the laundry room, I hear a blood curdling scream and must promptly redirect my attention to peeling the youngest off of his older brother’s head, who is apparently paying the price for riding his younger brother’s alphabet choo-choo.

7)At least 10 times a day, I have to figure out why the youngest has suddenly fallen to his knees, screaming, as tears stream down his face in the middle of the living room.  It usually ends up having to do with one of the older ones having the audacity to expect him to share his crackers, popcorn, cereal or whatever other snack he is in possession of at that moment.

8) I think about doing laundry but decide I will do it later because the kids are being quiet and I want to enjoy the peace.

9) I discover they are being quiet because they have found a pack of red kool-aid and are eating it like fruit-dip with their fingers, huddled in the pantry and that kind of discretion requires a lot of quiet concentration.  My children and my floor are blood red.  It comes off the floor with  bleach spray and an entire roll of paper towels.  The children are a different story.

10) I get the kitchen clean and in the time it takes me to put the the floor towel in the laundry room and walk back to the kitchen, it is already a disaster.  The same goes for every other fucking room in the house.

11) I give up.  Fuck laundry too.  I decide I’m going to throw all the fucking clothes away and just start over with everyone’s wardrobes.

12) The little one has shit his pants, AGAIN!

13) The dogs have scavenged the last shitty diaper out of the trash and have made it their afternoon snack in my formal dining room.

14) Well, shit!  It is almost time for my husband to be home.  I think about making dinner.

15) I see the little one hunched down in the living room with his face squinched into that very familiar “I am taking a shit” expression.

16) Fuck dinner.  They can eat cereal.

17) I hear a chorus of yelling, screaming and crying and find all three children embattled into a full on brawl over the last fruit roll up.  To solve the problem, I take it and cram it in my mouth.  Now, rather than being angry and hateful with one another, they are united in their hatred of me.  That’s just called good fucking parenting/problem solving skills.

My day is filled with fights, tears and I am up to my elbows in toddler shit.  I may, one day, come and write another day in the life but, next time, I will outline a day when vomit and diarrhea with the older kids has been thrown into the mix.  Those are more fun.  I bet you will wish you had my life then, for sure!

You get to interact with other adults.  Unless you consider answering Nina’s questions as she introduces new cartoons on the Sprout channel as adult interaction, I don’t get a whole lot of that during the day.  You get to take breaks.  I can get 20 minutes of quiet but it requires me to watch Caillou or Peppa Pig, so I wouldn’t really call it a break.  My kids just will not take an interest in whether or not Maury’s guest, Jessica, finds her baby’s daddy among the 7 men she brought to the show to be tested.  It doesn’t matter how hard I try to get them invested in her story.  You can call in sick if necessary.  It doesn’t matter if I have a cold, if I am vomiting or if I have kidney stones.  My kids are tyrant bosses and refuse to grant me any time off.  You get to clock out.  I don’t.  I don’t even get a change of scenery.

Although my children are slave driving bosses.  I wouldn’t change it for anything.  Is it easy?  Hell no.  It is the most thankless job I have ever had (and, believe me, I have had a LOT of jobs).  I won’t get any bonuses.  There is no Christmas party with awesome door prizes.  No one asks if I had a good day or bad day “at the office”.  There are no health benefits or vacation time or sick days.  There is no promotion opportunities and no one is giving me a paycheck.  I am not going to be a fucking martyr by claiming it is the hardest job in the world.  It isn’t.  It can be frustrating, it can be stressful, it can be overwhelming, it can be sooo mundane but I find it nothing short of rewarding, however, don’t you dare look me in the eye and dismiss my contribution to society as invalid or effortless by insinuating or blatantly stating that I sit on my ass all day and cram peanut butter cups in my face, while watching soap operas.  Most people that think that wouldn’t make it a day in my shoes.