There is a YouTube video floating around of a couple "breaking the barrier"....have you seen it? If not, you should watch it, it's pretty damn funny...go HERE...quite entertaining. And of course it got me thinking about that "barrier" that may or may not exist between husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, or whoever makes up the other half of your couple. Is there ANYTHING that is kept only to you in your relationship? Or is your significant other privy to EVERYTHING, right down to the last skid mark?
My husband and I most definitely have our "barriers". There are things that we don't care to know about each other and things we have absolutely NO desire to share. It's ok to not know EVERY.SINGLE.THING about your spouse. I'm not saying you should keep vital information from your significant other. Obviously the number of sexual partners should probably be shared (although I know quite a few women who have fudged that number one way or another) if your vajeej is a hotbed of communicable diseases...may want to passt that one along...are you deathly allergic to latex, farm animals, or Brut cologne? Again...may warrant some sharing.
BUT there are things that you and your spouse can most certainly keep under wraps. My husband is well aware of the fact that I suffer from irritable bowel syndrome (aka: spastic colon). That is ALL he needs to know. Do I need to inform him that our most recent meal at TGI Friday's had me clinging to the shitter about 7 minutes after my plate was cleared? Does he really need to know that a trip to Taco Bell SHOULD require a diaper (for me)? Does he really NEED to know how spastic my colon REALLY is? Nope. Just like I don't need to have any insider information about what goes on when he closes himself into the bathroom with his dog-eared copy of "War and Peace" for 45+ minutes. I don't want to know what it looked like, what it smelled like, what it resembled, or how long it was. I'm just not comfortable sharing that with anyone...a girlfriend told me that her latest bout with diarrhea was shared with her husband and 2 out of 3 children who refused to leave the bathroom. That's got barrier written all over it.
My husband knows that I get my period. He has more than enough basic information about what it entails. Enough that it makes him want to stay far, far away from me for about 4-5 days and he cringes everytime a tampon commercial comes on. I was folding laundry one day and he made the colossal mistake of asking me what I was doing as I sorted my underwear into two piles. "These are my period underwear" as I pointed to the pile on the left. He turned white, gagged, and walked away. That was more information than he ever wanted to know...when I told him I know women who have changed tampons/pads/etc. in front of their spouses, pretty sure he sent up a silent prayer that my period would go far, far away...forever. He likely aso prayed that my "period underwear" would go up in flames and the girls on the Kotex commercials would meet an untimely demise. I like to pretend his barrier is constructed entirely of tampons.
One barrier that we agreed upon years ago is the one that was the topic of the YouTube video. We DO NOT fart in front of each other. It is highly likely I let one rip as I was giving birth but when you are squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of an opening the size of a lemon and it feels like you're shitting knives, odds of a little gas escaping are pretty good. But I have held some in that have been so incredibly painful because I just don't need to share that with him. And vice versa. My brothers are disgusting people and their wives have dealt with their "scent" for years, it was a barrier that was blasted down in a gassy explosion...likely on the first date. They find great pride and pleasure in sharing that with others and I'll never know why. There is nothing pleasurable about sitting in someone else's fart cloud. Contrary to popular belief it does not dissipate as you walk away from it, they cannot be masked by couch cushions, and I don't know of any women who enjoy dutch ovens.
People may think that because we have these barriers with each other it means we are not comfortable with each other. I would politely disagree with that. Just because I don't tell my husband when I'm about to shit myself, change my tampons while he is brushing his teeth, or let him waft in the gassy cloud of today's lunch does NOT mean I am not comfortable with him. We think it's more of a show of respect that we do not share these things with each other. We KNOW they happen, we KNOW less than pleasant things exist about the other but I'm content in not getting the details about his junk chafing the inside of his legs after a run. Just like I'm sure he's totally fine NEVER knowing that my hemorroids flare up after I shit myself. We like our barriers and have every intention of keeping them firmly in place.
Little white lies...
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Obviously as parents we have taken on the role of raising our children to be good people (well...MOST parents). We want them to be kind, compassionate, hard-working, empathetic, moral...blah, blah, blah. But I'm a walking oxymoron. I tell my kids that I want them to always be honest with me and daddy and to never lie to anyone. Well...I'm a fucking liar. I do it often and I do it well. But I always have the best of intentions and if they never find out then I'm STILL being a good parent, right?!?!?! (humor me...) These are just a few "lies" that have rolled off my tongue in order to maintain what little sanity I have left.
WHAT I SAY:
"Oh no! I'm so sorry you can't find it! Of course we can try to find a new one!"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Oh honey, we LOST that toy that makes mommy want to rip her own ears off? I'm so sorry! Yes, uh-huh...we ABSOLUTELY will buy you a new one! Right after pigs fly out of my ass to retrieve the original that is buried at the bottom of the garbage can sitting at the curb"
WHAT I SAY:
"I don't know what happened to it? Oh no! Look at that scratch (insert mom's sad face here) it probably won't work anymore but you bet we can sure try!"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Really? That super irritating movie that makes mommy want to drink herself into a stupor has a BIG ASS SCRATCH in it? I wonder how that happened! Couldn't have possibly been the pair of kitchen scissors that I just hid behind the coffee maker! What a bummer, I know how much you love it!" (insert big hug and hair petting here for effect)
WHAT I SAY:
"No sweetie, I'm not sure where that skirt is. I'll go dig in the laundry quick for you"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Oh NO! The skirt that you wear at a minimum of 3 times a week that matches nothing in your closet has turned up missing? What a shame...get a sense of style and self dignity and stop wearing shit for days and days"
WHAT I SAY:
"Buddy, there's some toothpaste on your shirt...here, put this one on instead so I can wash that one."
WHAT I MEAN:
"Hey, you need to go put on a different shirt that actually has the same fucking colors as the plaid shorts that you have on because it got some toothpaste on it and mom needs to wash it immediately and then go color coordinate your closet using pictures so you can actually see what outfits WON'T make you look like a tool" Child looks down for supposed toothpaste stain and before they get a chance to inspect closely I am ripping the shirt off of them and running like hell. **I will pause here to defend myself and say that I don't do this all the time (I'm not THAT shallow...often)...have any of you SEEN some of the pictures I've posted on Facebook of my kids' chosen outfits??? Sweet Jesus...
WHAT I SAY:
"Nope, it's over...it'll probably be on again later though. Should we DVR it?"
WHAT I MEAN:
"No I just checked Disney channel and the godforsaken show with weak plot lines and horrible acting that rots your little brain is NOT on and if it WAS on it'd be the same goddamn episode that they've aired repeatedly for the last month straight. Want me to act it out for you instead?"
WHAT I SAY:
...while rummaging through the pantry "No, I guess we're all out! I can get some more the next time I'm at the store honey!"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Oh bummer, if I'd known that you liked that snack so much I wouldn't have hoarded them all for myself in the super-secret-only-known-to-mom location in the pantry. I'll get more at the grocery store for you when hell freezes over, how's that sound? Get your own goddamn 100 calorie packs you little leeches!"
Those are just a few...I'm sure I could think of more given enough time and alcohol. I really don't think of it as lying...I think of it as self-preservation. I can only handle so many viewings of Thomas and the Golden Magical Acid Trip Railroad or whatever the fuck that movie is called. I can only handle looking at some of the less-than-favorable items of clothing that my children seem to get as gifts and develop an unhealthy attachment to a few times before I snap. There are just some snacks that are mine and NO I will NOT share (again, I get that I should be teaching my kids to share but if they don't know that a package of Pepperidge Farms Mint Milanos is stashed behind the crock pot it's not hurting anyone!!) I'm telling YOU guys how I roll so that's gotta count for something right? My kids will figure it out eventually...my parents spent YEARS lying to us and I'm just now figuring it out and I get it. I'm ok with it and clearly I've embraced the concept...have you? ;)
WHAT I SAY:
"Oh no! I'm so sorry you can't find it! Of course we can try to find a new one!"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Oh honey, we LOST that toy that makes mommy want to rip her own ears off? I'm so sorry! Yes, uh-huh...we ABSOLUTELY will buy you a new one! Right after pigs fly out of my ass to retrieve the original that is buried at the bottom of the garbage can sitting at the curb"
WHAT I SAY:
"I don't know what happened to it? Oh no! Look at that scratch (insert mom's sad face here) it probably won't work anymore but you bet we can sure try!"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Really? That super irritating movie that makes mommy want to drink herself into a stupor has a BIG ASS SCRATCH in it? I wonder how that happened! Couldn't have possibly been the pair of kitchen scissors that I just hid behind the coffee maker! What a bummer, I know how much you love it!" (insert big hug and hair petting here for effect)
WHAT I SAY:
"No sweetie, I'm not sure where that skirt is. I'll go dig in the laundry quick for you"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Oh NO! The skirt that you wear at a minimum of 3 times a week that matches nothing in your closet has turned up missing? What a shame...get a sense of style and self dignity and stop wearing shit for days and days"
WHAT I SAY:
"Buddy, there's some toothpaste on your shirt...here, put this one on instead so I can wash that one."
WHAT I MEAN:
"Hey, you need to go put on a different shirt that actually has the same fucking colors as the plaid shorts that you have on because it got some toothpaste on it and mom needs to wash it immediately and then go color coordinate your closet using pictures so you can actually see what outfits WON'T make you look like a tool" Child looks down for supposed toothpaste stain and before they get a chance to inspect closely I am ripping the shirt off of them and running like hell. **I will pause here to defend myself and say that I don't do this all the time (I'm not THAT shallow...often)...have any of you SEEN some of the pictures I've posted on Facebook of my kids' chosen outfits??? Sweet Jesus...
WHAT I SAY:
"Nope, it's over...it'll probably be on again later though. Should we DVR it?"
WHAT I MEAN:
"No I just checked Disney channel and the godforsaken show with weak plot lines and horrible acting that rots your little brain is NOT on and if it WAS on it'd be the same goddamn episode that they've aired repeatedly for the last month straight. Want me to act it out for you instead?"
WHAT I SAY:
...while rummaging through the pantry "No, I guess we're all out! I can get some more the next time I'm at the store honey!"
WHAT I MEAN:
"Oh bummer, if I'd known that you liked that snack so much I wouldn't have hoarded them all for myself in the super-secret-only-known-to-mom location in the pantry. I'll get more at the grocery store for you when hell freezes over, how's that sound? Get your own goddamn 100 calorie packs you little leeches!"
Those are just a few...I'm sure I could think of more given enough time and alcohol. I really don't think of it as lying...I think of it as self-preservation. I can only handle so many viewings of Thomas and the Golden Magical Acid Trip Railroad or whatever the fuck that movie is called. I can only handle looking at some of the less-than-favorable items of clothing that my children seem to get as gifts and develop an unhealthy attachment to a few times before I snap. There are just some snacks that are mine and NO I will NOT share (again, I get that I should be teaching my kids to share but if they don't know that a package of Pepperidge Farms Mint Milanos is stashed behind the crock pot it's not hurting anyone!!) I'm telling YOU guys how I roll so that's gotta count for something right? My kids will figure it out eventually...my parents spent YEARS lying to us and I'm just now figuring it out and I get it. I'm ok with it and clearly I've embraced the concept...have you? ;)
"Um, mommy? What happened to you?!?!?"
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The 3 year old encountered an unfortunate incident with a sippy cup of milk last night and her hair was the casualty. I didn't notice it until they were brushing teeth and I was trying to brush her hair...wasn't happening. It was damp, stiff, sticky, and getting a brush through it was impossible. Being the stellar mom that I am, I pulled it back into a ponytail and sent her off to bed, telling her she was taking a shower with mom in the morning.
She has showered with me before, she loves showers, loves being naked, loves turning around and shaking her little butt at me telling me to "looka my booty tushy". So I figured today would be no different. WRONG. I start the water, get undressed, she does the same and in we go. She normally totally ignores me and hangs in the water singing random songs about it raining and unicorns and butterflies and other nonsensical 3 year old shit. Not today. I'm busy washing my hair and she turns and gasps...
"MOMMY!!!!!!!!! What happened to you?!?!?!"
I look down, thinking I had cut my leg shaving and was gushing copious amounts of blood down the drain. Nope.
"What do you mean what happened? I'm fine!"
"NO you are not....WHAT is that?!?!?!" (pointing to my vajeej region)
"That's my vajeej (ok, didn't use that term with her but I like it better for some reason) you have one too"
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH IT? That is BASGUSTING, put it away, ewwwwww....I don't wanna see your hairy butt mom OH.MY.GOSH"
At this point I'm feeling a gamut of emotions...mostly torn between amusement at her apparent horror at my BASGUSTING hairy vajeej (which was just recently maintained, thank you very much) and depression at being called basgusting by my preschooler. Preschooler = 1, self-esteem = 0
This carries on for several minutes, I'm trying to wrap up the shower quickly so I can put my nasty, hairy, basgusting self in a towel and then partake in hours of hair removal and exfoliation to restore even a shred self-esteem. She keeps going on and on and on and on about how gross and ewwwwww it is, she's covering her eyes, pointing and acting as if the Elephant Man is standing in the shower with her. I've never felt so grotesquely disfigured in all my life. But then it got worse...
"OH MY GOSH mommy...your boobies are falling onto your chubby belly!!!!!"
Wow. Awesome. So now she's carrying on about my hairy butt and my sagging boobs and I'm near tears. Having been reduced to a hairy, drooping, chunked up mess with a mom-gut I can't get dried off and dressed fast enough.
"WHY do you have those boobies? Why are they down?"
Because of YOU you demonic little spawn. YOU made my boobies hang down to my navel. YOU gave me this unsightly midsection. I BLAME YOU.
"All mommies have boobies and all mommies have hairy butts" (granted to varying degrees...some are partial to being bushwomen and some prefer Brazilians...I fall somewhere in the middle...we won't discuss the boobies right now)
"I don't want a hairy butt and I want nice boobies" (don't we all???)
"You'll have a hairy butt and nice boobies when you're a mommy too"
This is when she starts crying hysterically at the thought of even slightly resembling the horrific display standing before her.
"BUT I DON'T WANT A BASGUSTING HAIRY BUTT LIKE YOU!!!! IT'S SO GROSS MOMMY!!!"
"You won't have them until you're bigger and you're a mommy, it's ok"
Sniffling now, she manages to get out "When I turn 43 like you?"
Knife through the heart....NOT that there is anything wrong with being 43, but I'm still 10 fucking years away from that. So my rapidly aging, hairy vajeej'd, saggy boobed self wrapped us both up in towels and snuggled her onto my bed and reassured her that the hairy ass, drooping tits, wrinkles, stretch marks, and being old would NEVER happen to her. Boy is SHE gonna be pissed in a few years...
She has showered with me before, she loves showers, loves being naked, loves turning around and shaking her little butt at me telling me to "looka my booty tushy". So I figured today would be no different. WRONG. I start the water, get undressed, she does the same and in we go. She normally totally ignores me and hangs in the water singing random songs about it raining and unicorns and butterflies and other nonsensical 3 year old shit. Not today. I'm busy washing my hair and she turns and gasps...
"MOMMY!!!!!!!!! What happened to you?!?!?!"
I look down, thinking I had cut my leg shaving and was gushing copious amounts of blood down the drain. Nope.
"What do you mean what happened? I'm fine!"
"NO you are not....WHAT is that?!?!?!" (pointing to my vajeej region)
"That's my vajeej (ok, didn't use that term with her but I like it better for some reason) you have one too"
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH IT? That is BASGUSTING, put it away, ewwwwww....I don't wanna see your hairy butt mom OH.MY.GOSH"
At this point I'm feeling a gamut of emotions...mostly torn between amusement at her apparent horror at my BASGUSTING hairy vajeej (which was just recently maintained, thank you very much) and depression at being called basgusting by my preschooler. Preschooler = 1, self-esteem = 0
This carries on for several minutes, I'm trying to wrap up the shower quickly so I can put my nasty, hairy, basgusting self in a towel and then partake in hours of hair removal and exfoliation to restore even a shred self-esteem. She keeps going on and on and on and on about how gross and ewwwwww it is, she's covering her eyes, pointing and acting as if the Elephant Man is standing in the shower with her. I've never felt so grotesquely disfigured in all my life. But then it got worse...
"OH MY GOSH mommy...your boobies are falling onto your chubby belly!!!!!"
Wow. Awesome. So now she's carrying on about my hairy butt and my sagging boobs and I'm near tears. Having been reduced to a hairy, drooping, chunked up mess with a mom-gut I can't get dried off and dressed fast enough.
"WHY do you have those boobies? Why are they down?"
Because of YOU you demonic little spawn. YOU made my boobies hang down to my navel. YOU gave me this unsightly midsection. I BLAME YOU.
"All mommies have boobies and all mommies have hairy butts" (granted to varying degrees...some are partial to being bushwomen and some prefer Brazilians...I fall somewhere in the middle...we won't discuss the boobies right now)
"I don't want a hairy butt and I want nice boobies" (don't we all???)
"You'll have a hairy butt and nice boobies when you're a mommy too"
This is when she starts crying hysterically at the thought of even slightly resembling the horrific display standing before her.
"BUT I DON'T WANT A BASGUSTING HAIRY BUTT LIKE YOU!!!! IT'S SO GROSS MOMMY!!!"
"You won't have them until you're bigger and you're a mommy, it's ok"
Sniffling now, she manages to get out "When I turn 43 like you?"
Knife through the heart....NOT that there is anything wrong with being 43, but I'm still 10 fucking years away from that. So my rapidly aging, hairy vajeej'd, saggy boobed self wrapped us both up in towels and snuggled her onto my bed and reassured her that the hairy ass, drooping tits, wrinkles, stretch marks, and being old would NEVER happen to her. Boy is SHE gonna be pissed in a few years...
Give me a break..I'm MAINTAINING here!!
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I was out running errands the other day and my husband called me in a panic: "WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OK? WHAT HAPPENED?????" Um, I'm not sure...I know they're out of the kind of bread the kids like at Target and that Jada and Will are breaking up according to People but other than that I'm not sure what happened? Which prompted me to ask "WTF are you talking about?!?!?" Dead silence...long painful pause...."Um hello?" He cleared his throat and informed me that he had just gotten home. He didn't need to say anything else because I knew what the problem was. I had abandoned ship in the middle of the day and the ship was a wreck (pun intended).
He was likely standing in the middle of a war zone. The battle had ensued earlier that morning and there were many, many casualties that had yet to be dealt with. The Cheerios that had dropped from someone's bowl had likely created Cheerio concrete on the kitchen floor, the various lunch fixings were still on the island countertop...but whatever, the youngest was going to need to eat lunch eventually so why NOT leave out the bread, peanut butter (including the pb that was smeared ON the countertop) jelly, cheetos, juice boxes, and baggies; for whatever reason the vacuum was smack in the middle of the front entryway (doesn't EVERYONE keep theirs there? No? No one? Hmmm...weird...) Pajamas were flung over the back of the couch, the arm of the chair, and strewn across the ottoman...and OH SHIT I'm pretty sure the youngest child's Pull Up was left on the floor by the tv...and we can't forget the container of hair accessories that got dumped in the upstairs hallway because the oldest couldn't find the exact one that she was looking for...discarded outfit choices were scattered haphazardly on bedroom floors, of COURSE no one's bed was made, I'm PRETTY sure the dryer was hanging open and half the contents were on the floor of the laundry room, toothbrushes were cemented to the bathroom countertop in a pool of Crest, a REAL battle between Jango Fett, Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker, and ObeWan Kenobi had taken place earlier that morning as well (when middle child was SUPPOSED to be getting a clean pair of socks...which he never came downstairs with because DUH...Anakin needed some sort of battle cruiser and what better than a pair of Hanes???) so the victims of said battle were strategically placed along the stairs (along with a wide variety of weapons, back-up troops, and vehicles) So traversing the stairs was like battling a Galactic Heroes minefield...good times, good times.
So basically the house was a shit hole. The scene that particular day was not normal (I had to leave immediately after putting the older two on the bus for an appointment and then stayed out to run errands after) but you're not going to find it spit-shined and polished every day before 9 am either. I typically like to keep up with it during the day, I MAINTAIN if you will...dishes are done, meal preparations are cleaned up, kids rooms are tidy enough...but I'm guilty of maintaining a "lived in" home. At any given time you could walk into my house and odds are pretty damn good you'll trip over a pair of shoes, step on a Lego, walk through a patch of mystery stickiness on my kitchen floor, have to move a jacket/backpack/blanket/stuffed animal/barbie to find a spot on the couch...you get the idea. I have three kids and it's damn obvious. It also drives my husband CRAZY. He can't stand the pile of the kids' school paperwork in a certain spot on the kitchen counter. Finding shoes/toys/sippy cups under the couch drives him to the edge. The stack of DVDs that have yet to be returned to his alphabetical orderliness in the basement makes him want to hurt someone. But keeping up with that shit ALL DAY EVERY DAY is akin to keeping the ocean back with a broom. WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I BOTHER???? I clean up one mess, turn around to deal with another and the first mess is all fucked up again! Ocean...broom.
Yet it's been our most consistent battle since we first got married. I grew up in a "lived in" house...there were 8 of us...no freaking way could my mother have kept up with it all day every day. She MAINTAINED. I do the same. My house is clean, it's usually pretty tidy, 90% of the time I would not be embarrassed by unexpected guests. My husband is a little different though. He grew up in a house where his bed was made before he had completely gotten out of it, a discarded tissue was removed from a bathroom garbage can to be placed in the larger kitchen garbage before the snot even had a chance to dry, and dishes were washed, rinsed, dried and IMMEDIATELY put in their proper place, couch pillows were re-fluffed and re-positioned as soon as he had abandoned his spot. So he's had a bit of a difficult time adjusting to the fact that shoes in the front hall and GI Joe guns wedged in the couch cushions don't bother me. Sure they get dealt with eventually but I refuse to deal with every mess the second it happens. I'd go crazy. I'd drive everyone else crazy. THERE.IS.NO.POINT but he doesn't see that. He doesn't understand why the kids backpacks, papers, toys, shoes are still in the family room at 6 pm on a Wednesday. We always do a quick clean up as we head upstairs for bed...everyone grabs their shit and puts it away. It works. Shit gets picked up, everyone is happy.
I've proposed that he stay home for a week straight with the kids day in and day out so HE can get a firsthand look at what a huge pain in the ass even MAINTAINING can be. He doesn't think it's that hard. He CLAIMS that if I'm out for a few hours and he's left in charge the house is kept clean (um...yeah...that'll be reserved for another blog post entitled "My husband can't clean up after the kids for shit when left alone but I should be thankful that our children are still alive upon my return") So in summary, Star Wars, Cheerios, ocean...broom...MAINTAIN my friends, MAINTAIN.
He was likely standing in the middle of a war zone. The battle had ensued earlier that morning and there were many, many casualties that had yet to be dealt with. The Cheerios that had dropped from someone's bowl had likely created Cheerio concrete on the kitchen floor, the various lunch fixings were still on the island countertop...but whatever, the youngest was going to need to eat lunch eventually so why NOT leave out the bread, peanut butter (including the pb that was smeared ON the countertop) jelly, cheetos, juice boxes, and baggies; for whatever reason the vacuum was smack in the middle of the front entryway (doesn't EVERYONE keep theirs there? No? No one? Hmmm...weird...) Pajamas were flung over the back of the couch, the arm of the chair, and strewn across the ottoman...and OH SHIT I'm pretty sure the youngest child's Pull Up was left on the floor by the tv...and we can't forget the container of hair accessories that got dumped in the upstairs hallway because the oldest couldn't find the exact one that she was looking for...discarded outfit choices were scattered haphazardly on bedroom floors, of COURSE no one's bed was made, I'm PRETTY sure the dryer was hanging open and half the contents were on the floor of the laundry room, toothbrushes were cemented to the bathroom countertop in a pool of Crest, a REAL battle between Jango Fett, Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker, and ObeWan Kenobi had taken place earlier that morning as well (when middle child was SUPPOSED to be getting a clean pair of socks...which he never came downstairs with because DUH...Anakin needed some sort of battle cruiser and what better than a pair of Hanes???) so the victims of said battle were strategically placed along the stairs (along with a wide variety of weapons, back-up troops, and vehicles) So traversing the stairs was like battling a Galactic Heroes minefield...good times, good times.
So basically the house was a shit hole. The scene that particular day was not normal (I had to leave immediately after putting the older two on the bus for an appointment and then stayed out to run errands after) but you're not going to find it spit-shined and polished every day before 9 am either. I typically like to keep up with it during the day, I MAINTAIN if you will...dishes are done, meal preparations are cleaned up, kids rooms are tidy enough...but I'm guilty of maintaining a "lived in" home. At any given time you could walk into my house and odds are pretty damn good you'll trip over a pair of shoes, step on a Lego, walk through a patch of mystery stickiness on my kitchen floor, have to move a jacket/backpack/blanket/stuffed animal/barbie to find a spot on the couch...you get the idea. I have three kids and it's damn obvious. It also drives my husband CRAZY. He can't stand the pile of the kids' school paperwork in a certain spot on the kitchen counter. Finding shoes/toys/sippy cups under the couch drives him to the edge. The stack of DVDs that have yet to be returned to his alphabetical orderliness in the basement makes him want to hurt someone. But keeping up with that shit ALL DAY EVERY DAY is akin to keeping the ocean back with a broom. WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I BOTHER???? I clean up one mess, turn around to deal with another and the first mess is all fucked up again! Ocean...broom.
Yet it's been our most consistent battle since we first got married. I grew up in a "lived in" house...there were 8 of us...no freaking way could my mother have kept up with it all day every day. She MAINTAINED. I do the same. My house is clean, it's usually pretty tidy, 90% of the time I would not be embarrassed by unexpected guests. My husband is a little different though. He grew up in a house where his bed was made before he had completely gotten out of it, a discarded tissue was removed from a bathroom garbage can to be placed in the larger kitchen garbage before the snot even had a chance to dry, and dishes were washed, rinsed, dried and IMMEDIATELY put in their proper place, couch pillows were re-fluffed and re-positioned as soon as he had abandoned his spot. So he's had a bit of a difficult time adjusting to the fact that shoes in the front hall and GI Joe guns wedged in the couch cushions don't bother me. Sure they get dealt with eventually but I refuse to deal with every mess the second it happens. I'd go crazy. I'd drive everyone else crazy. THERE.IS.NO.POINT but he doesn't see that. He doesn't understand why the kids backpacks, papers, toys, shoes are still in the family room at 6 pm on a Wednesday. We always do a quick clean up as we head upstairs for bed...everyone grabs their shit and puts it away. It works. Shit gets picked up, everyone is happy.
I've proposed that he stay home for a week straight with the kids day in and day out so HE can get a firsthand look at what a huge pain in the ass even MAINTAINING can be. He doesn't think it's that hard. He CLAIMS that if I'm out for a few hours and he's left in charge the house is kept clean (um...yeah...that'll be reserved for another blog post entitled "My husband can't clean up after the kids for shit when left alone but I should be thankful that our children are still alive upon my return") So in summary, Star Wars, Cheerios, ocean...broom...MAINTAIN my friends, MAINTAIN.
Why going to the movies sucks...
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I don't even have it in me to come up with a witty title for this one...taking a family of five to the movies sucks ass. Period. I have yet to figure out why, everytime we have a low-key weekend without a bazillion different activities and destinations on the itinerary, my beloved insists on suggesting a movie. Of COURSE he does it when the kids are within earshot so I look like a raging-party-pooping-Mommy-Dearest-pissing-in-everyone's-Cheerios BITCH if I say no. Don't get me wrong, I like movies...ones I only pay a dollar for and can enjoy whilst wearing flannel. I like hitting pause if I (or someone else) needs to take a potty break, I like perusing my pantry for affordable snacks. Apparently my family does not enjoy these things as much as I do.
They LOOOOOVE going to the movie theater. The smelly, sticky-floored, bacteria-infested-stadium seat movie theater. Ewwwww. I just threw up in my mouth. But I digress. My family loves movies, we have a lot of them, and yes, we GO to a lot of them despite my best efforts to redirect them into other activities. Apparently the art of underwater basket weaving and making bottled sand art isn't nearly as entertaining. Assholes.
So off we go...and it goes the same way EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. I insist that we stop at a convenience store so I can purchase drinks to smuggle in. This mortifies my husband beyond belief. I bring the biggest fucking mom-bag I own, I could easily fit a small child in there but for these little outings, that baby is reserved for Gatorade and Diet Coke. We argue for about 15 minutes about why I bring our own drinks in, he acts all irritated and whiny. And even though I always smuggle in a soda for him, he always buys a small bucket at the concession stand as if to say "HA! I can get my OWN drink bitch...I just spent $8 on flat, watered down soda that will have me pissing my pants 30 minutes into the movie..TAKE THAT!" Yeah, good for you buddy, too bad I only brought Pull-ups for the youngest of the brood. I also bring in snacks (yeah, it's a BIG.ASS.BAG) but again, he will buy a barrel of popcorn once we're in the theater.
After we sign over part of a college fund contribution to buy tickets and my man-child stands in line for his snacks (for which the total rivals a small grocery bill) We make our way to the theater, stand in back while the man-child and the two oldest spawn argue about where to sit. Let's face it, the 3D glasses are going to make me want to puke 5 minutes in regardless so I could give two shits if we sit in the back on the right, smack in the middle, or up front with my head cocked back at a 90 degree angle. What's that you say? You want to sit in the parking lot??? OK!!!!!!!!! Sign my ass up! I'll race you!
We make our way to our seats and more arguing ensues about who is going to sit next to whom and then we listen to a chorus of :
"MOVE YOUR ELBOW"
"THAT'S MY DRINK HOLDER"
"SHE TOOK MY GATORADE!"
"YOU'RE GOING TO KNOCK OVER MY POPCORN!"
"YOU GOT TO SIT NEXT TO DAD LAST TIME!!"
"I HATE YOU ALL I HATE THE MOVIES AND I WANT TO GO THE FUCK HOME!!" (oh wait, that last one was me...)
And a whole bunch of other bullshit that makes me want to knock heads together and just rouse them from unconsciousness once the movie is over. But the real nightmare begins once the lights go down and the movie starts. After of course 15 minutes of previews...those stupid BASTARDS know my kids are suckers so of course they show previews for 10 more movies I'll have to drag my ass to. Fuck my life. So the movie begins and I WILL say, there are a few times when I've actually WANTED to watch the movie that we paid a small fortune to see. However, it NEVER turns out that way. I typically spend 1 hour and 58 minutes listening to various requests/demands/bitching/whining/random-stupid-bullshit talking so I actually get to pay attention to MAYBE 58 seconds of every movie we go to.
"Mom, can I have more popcorn?"
"Mom, can you open my drink?"
"Mom, I don't like popcorn, what else do we have?" (which requires me to dig in the big ass bag...not an easy task in the dark)
"Mom, remember in the first movie when the one guy had the thing that he took to the place to bring to the other guy? Was he a bad guy or a good guy? Did he have a different weapon? Because that one doesn't look like the one he had in the first movie. Can you check on your phone and google it and see what he had in the first movie that he brought to the guy at the place?"
"Mom, did you bring my jacket?" Uh NO...I reminded you as we were getting out of the car.
"Mom, can I have your jacket?"
"Mom, can I play with your phone?" OH HELL NO! The tickets cost more than the GDP of some small countries! Your ass will watch EVERY.SINGLE.GODDAMN.SECOND of this movie or so help me God...
"Hey..mom...did you look that up yet? Cuz now there's another guy going to a different place and the other guy has a different thing and he's taking it somewhere else with another bad guy and they're going to the same place as in the other movie and I want to see if it's the same one or a different one so did you look yet?"
"Mom? Did we bring M&M's?" (to which I replied that I did NOT bring any M&M's...only to discover that child #1 was asking because she was suspicious of whatever floor snack child #3 had just unearthed from under her chair...HOLY SHIT)
"Mom, what did he just say?" this happens repeatedly and USUALLY about 12 seconds into the movie so they spend the next 2 hours confused because they missed something during the opening credits.
"Mom, I have to go to the bathroom" OF COURSE you have to go to the fucking bathroom. Because your father shared his vat of diet coke with you so not only are you going to spend the next 6 hours bouncing off the goddamn walls, you'll be pissing every 20 minutes too. Awesome. So as any mother would do, I ask ALL THREE if they have to go so I can just get it over with. The other two say no but it never fails...I get back, sit down and someone else announces that they have to go. I've started wising up and just dragging all of them with me. It will get to the point where I will put them ALL in Pull-ups so I don't have to miss anything because I missed the last 10 minutes of Transformers 3 and I'm still pissed.
Occasionally their father will drag himself out of his popcorn bucket stupor to pitch in for 37 seconds of the 2 hour long movie but most of MY 2 hours is spent refereeing/handing out more snacks/mopping up spills/passing out napkins/prying mystery floor snacks out of the 3 year old's hands/etc...etc....etc.
So this is why I don't enjoy going to the movies. I LIKE movies. I just don't like them with my family. Now I know why people go to movies alone. I used to feel sorry for them. Now I wish I could be them.
They LOOOOOVE going to the movie theater. The smelly, sticky-floored, bacteria-infested-stadium seat movie theater. Ewwwww. I just threw up in my mouth. But I digress. My family loves movies, we have a lot of them, and yes, we GO to a lot of them despite my best efforts to redirect them into other activities. Apparently the art of underwater basket weaving and making bottled sand art isn't nearly as entertaining. Assholes.
So off we go...and it goes the same way EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. I insist that we stop at a convenience store so I can purchase drinks to smuggle in. This mortifies my husband beyond belief. I bring the biggest fucking mom-bag I own, I could easily fit a small child in there but for these little outings, that baby is reserved for Gatorade and Diet Coke. We argue for about 15 minutes about why I bring our own drinks in, he acts all irritated and whiny. And even though I always smuggle in a soda for him, he always buys a small bucket at the concession stand as if to say "HA! I can get my OWN drink bitch...I just spent $8 on flat, watered down soda that will have me pissing my pants 30 minutes into the movie..TAKE THAT!" Yeah, good for you buddy, too bad I only brought Pull-ups for the youngest of the brood. I also bring in snacks (yeah, it's a BIG.ASS.BAG) but again, he will buy a barrel of popcorn once we're in the theater.
After we sign over part of a college fund contribution to buy tickets and my man-child stands in line for his snacks (for which the total rivals a small grocery bill) We make our way to the theater, stand in back while the man-child and the two oldest spawn argue about where to sit. Let's face it, the 3D glasses are going to make me want to puke 5 minutes in regardless so I could give two shits if we sit in the back on the right, smack in the middle, or up front with my head cocked back at a 90 degree angle. What's that you say? You want to sit in the parking lot??? OK!!!!!!!!! Sign my ass up! I'll race you!
We make our way to our seats and more arguing ensues about who is going to sit next to whom and then we listen to a chorus of :
"MOVE YOUR ELBOW"
"THAT'S MY DRINK HOLDER"
"SHE TOOK MY GATORADE!"
"YOU'RE GOING TO KNOCK OVER MY POPCORN!"
"YOU GOT TO SIT NEXT TO DAD LAST TIME!!"
"I HATE YOU ALL I HATE THE MOVIES AND I WANT TO GO THE FUCK HOME!!" (oh wait, that last one was me...)
And a whole bunch of other bullshit that makes me want to knock heads together and just rouse them from unconsciousness once the movie is over. But the real nightmare begins once the lights go down and the movie starts. After of course 15 minutes of previews...those stupid BASTARDS know my kids are suckers so of course they show previews for 10 more movies I'll have to drag my ass to. Fuck my life. So the movie begins and I WILL say, there are a few times when I've actually WANTED to watch the movie that we paid a small fortune to see. However, it NEVER turns out that way. I typically spend 1 hour and 58 minutes listening to various requests/demands/bitching/whining/random-stupid-bullshit talking so I actually get to pay attention to MAYBE 58 seconds of every movie we go to.
"Mom, can I have more popcorn?"
"Mom, can you open my drink?"
"Mom, I don't like popcorn, what else do we have?" (which requires me to dig in the big ass bag...not an easy task in the dark)
"Mom, remember in the first movie when the one guy had the thing that he took to the place to bring to the other guy? Was he a bad guy or a good guy? Did he have a different weapon? Because that one doesn't look like the one he had in the first movie. Can you check on your phone and google it and see what he had in the first movie that he brought to the guy at the place?"
"Mom, did you bring my jacket?" Uh NO...I reminded you as we were getting out of the car.
"Mom, can I have your jacket?"
"Mom, can I play with your phone?" OH HELL NO! The tickets cost more than the GDP of some small countries! Your ass will watch EVERY.SINGLE.GODDAMN.SECOND of this movie or so help me God...
"Hey..mom...did you look that up yet? Cuz now there's another guy going to a different place and the other guy has a different thing and he's taking it somewhere else with another bad guy and they're going to the same place as in the other movie and I want to see if it's the same one or a different one so did you look yet?"
"Mom? Did we bring M&M's?" (to which I replied that I did NOT bring any M&M's...only to discover that child #1 was asking because she was suspicious of whatever floor snack child #3 had just unearthed from under her chair...HOLY SHIT)
"Mom, what did he just say?" this happens repeatedly and USUALLY about 12 seconds into the movie so they spend the next 2 hours confused because they missed something during the opening credits.
"Mom, I have to go to the bathroom" OF COURSE you have to go to the fucking bathroom. Because your father shared his vat of diet coke with you so not only are you going to spend the next 6 hours bouncing off the goddamn walls, you'll be pissing every 20 minutes too. Awesome. So as any mother would do, I ask ALL THREE if they have to go so I can just get it over with. The other two say no but it never fails...I get back, sit down and someone else announces that they have to go. I've started wising up and just dragging all of them with me. It will get to the point where I will put them ALL in Pull-ups so I don't have to miss anything because I missed the last 10 minutes of Transformers 3 and I'm still pissed.
Occasionally their father will drag himself out of his popcorn bucket stupor to pitch in for 37 seconds of the 2 hour long movie but most of MY 2 hours is spent refereeing/handing out more snacks/mopping up spills/passing out napkins/prying mystery floor snacks out of the 3 year old's hands/etc...etc....etc.
So this is why I don't enjoy going to the movies. I LIKE movies. I just don't like them with my family. Now I know why people go to movies alone. I used to feel sorry for them. Now I wish I could be them.
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