Since Mike was laid off for those 8 weeks over Christmas, everything relating to Operation Save My Sanity making over our new home ceased. Well, there was a little painting done just after Christmas and some baseboard trim installed but nothing more. We just couldn’t justify shopping for stuff and that saddened me, deeply, because I am very impatient. Seeing Mike home for 8 weeks and not a lick of work being done to our house was really extremely painful.

I’m a little frustrated that not one of the started projects has yet to be completed in its entirety. It all takes time, money, MOTIVATION!, and knowledge; all of which we have little of. It’s an uphill struggle, but you know how accomplishing a large task can feel when it’s finally done, whether you’re sorting out a form on Aviva.co.uk or you’re redecorating a child’s bedroom on a tight budget. But eventually we will get there. The Upside? If we don’t, maybe the styles will come full circle and everything will be in style again!

Carter’s room is the same colour as the hallways and common areas, which BTW make me retch in disgust and hatred every. single. time. I enter my house.

Now, imagine that paint, that wallpaper and NAVY BLUE CARPET throughout the entire upstairs. Then combine that wallpaper and paint with a on off-white and dusty rose diamond patterned linoleum.

That’s my front foyer.

Uh. Huh.

Anyway, Carter’s room: It was a neutral tan colour which really sucked for a little boy.

Coupled with the navy blue carpet, it really was unsightly, dark and dreary.

Outside his window is a full grown maple tree (which thankfully is far enough away that attempting to escape will be challenging when he gets older.) which lets little natural light in during the day (when it’s full of leaves, until now, in the winter). The bedroom lighting fixture is old, and well – crap. And nothing beats natural light, so the room desperately needed to be brightened up.

We painted the entire room in Bay Waves (Valspar from Lowe’s) accenting with a bright red stripe in well, Bright Red (Valspar from Lowe’s). The blue smaller accent stripes were made using the paint we had remaining from when we re-did his Big Boy Room at the other house.

I just spent the last 40 minutes trying, valiantly, to find a photo – or even a post – of the sheen striping I did in Carter’s room at our old house. Now I am pissed off because this totally reaffirms that I should be much more organized – even in my photo sorting. Stupid organization.

Moving on..

We painted the walls, waited a day and then painted the stripes. I am kicking myself for not investigating striping more thoroughly, because then I would have know how important it is to add a coat of the base colour over a bit of the tape in order to seal it. This will prevent bleeding of the other paints and leave cleaner, crisper lines. I never gave it a second thought because, funnily enough, when I did the striping the one and only other time before, there was no bleed like this room. Especially with the red paint.

I can’t even tell you how upset this made me. It’s still like that. I haven’t had the time or the energy to try and fix it yet. But it goes around the whole room. Some spots worse than others. Mike says just leave it, it’s fine (of course) but I can’t. I plan to re-tape the whole room and paint the Bay Waves colour over the edges of the tape, then re-paint the stripes. I’ve already sanded it smooth and washed it down in preparation for re-painting.

*sigh*

I am so not looking forward to doing it again, but I can’t leave it any longer.

I am in the midst of painting the room right now. After traveling 40 minutes to Lowe’s for another can of Bay Waves, I realized IN THE PARKING LOT that I had forgotten to record the sheen of the paint and had to go home to get the information.

Finally, after being there and back, and there and back (like a Dr. Seuss book), I painted over the blue lines and re-taped the whole room, widening the red line and re-doing the blue all together. I’ve painted the tape in an attempt to seal it from bleeding. I am armed with a utility knife and “precision tape” and WILL. NOT. FAIL.

I’ll let you know how it turns out…

:::

Hudson’s room was a simple paint job. No fancy striping.

We also stripped the popcorn ceiling, which wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. A simple gardening weed and feed hand sprayer, warm water, a drywall knife  and plastic sheeting was all I needed.

But now, the colour is so relaxing. I saw a nursery picture featured at Ohdeedoh using Tranquility and knew it would be perfect. I went to a Benjamin Moore dealer and got a paint chip which I then took to Lowe’s where I used their paint chip matcher to find a similar colour in Valspar paints.

The shelves with baskets and accessories, and photographs are still to be put up.

The light will be replaced with this one:

Very much still a work in progress… and until final payments are made our car (JUNE!!!) and Carter is out of daycare (SEPTEMBER!!!) the  there will be no tearing down walls, pulling carpets or replacing cabinetry. I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to that stage! But for now, I just have to update the old! dirty! and relic! items to help progress towards this house being OURS…

If you’re interested, here are the posts on our kitchen up-date – which is also, no fully completed.

Next? Main bath.

• Hizzy* Pics!!

For as long as I can remember, I’ve procrastinated. Holidays are no different.

Every. Single. Mother. Effing. Year. I say I will start Christimas shopping in the summer. I will buy that *perfect* gift as soon as I see it and not rely on my memory to tell me what it was I was thinking of getting 6 months after I’ve seen it in the store.

Every year, I wait.

Every year it is 5 days before Christmas and I haven’t completed even half of my shopping.

This year? It’s a little more stressful seeing as we are hosting. SIXTEEN family members are embarking on our new-to-us home which is still stuck in the mid-80′s and furniture-less. For me, (since Mike’s the chef and I don’t have to worry about the turkey at all. It just magical appears on my plate.) it’s the fact that we have no furniture.

I kid you not.

Our living room is empty save the boxes which have yet to be unpacked since we moved here back in July.

My parents joke that we’ll be eating dinner sitting on the boxes, but little do they know, until Saturday morning, that was a very likely scenario.

See? PROCRASTINATION.

Did I mention there will be sixteen people at my house? Ya. And we bought a dining room table this weekend. 7 DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

I seem to be a gluten for punishment.

I have yet to decide on a menu, I haven’t purchased any table decorations. We only just finished buying our tree and decorating this evening.

The whole time decorating the tree, the boys were running around, throwing decorations and crying because one had stolen from the other. Mike was sitting there watching it all go down while I tried to wrangle two overtired children suffering from cabin fever. I didn’t even enjoy the fact that we were preparing for the holidays, but instead was cursing myself for being a damn moron and doing this to myself, yet again. When will I ever learn there’s a better way to do this? Clearly my lackluster approach to last minute preparation is not the anti-stress, holiday friendly way.

This week will the a disaster of buying gifts, wrapping, cooking, baking, organizing and decorating – after I get home from work. Oh, and a trip to the mall to see The Jolly Fat Man. Ya. Still haven’t done that either!

But don’t worry about me. I am totally going to start getting ready for next season come July. Promise.

• Found: The Meaning of Family
• The Lay Off: From the Beginning

Falling apart at the seams at the moment. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in four years 2 weeks. I am like the walking dead these days.

We’re installing our dishwasher for the fifth time.

We still have working dryer or microwave (but they sure are pretty!).

Hudson’s been sick with diarrhea, throwing up AND teething. Kicked out of daycare on Thursday for barfing on the teacher. (Okay, so it wasn’t because he barfed on the teacher but instead, just because he barfed.)

Carter has been just one big clusterfuck of MELTDOWNS. He’s acting out for attention I’m sure and because his whole world has been turned upside down. (Still concerned about the whole situation, but there’s been no updates as of yet. These meltdowns have been fucking with my brain too. Now I keep thinking is it because we’ve moved? Please let this attitude be because we’ved moved.)

I’ve been told that I am probably one of the worst housekeepers in existence; a that’s a story for another day because I am too hurt and upset about the whole thing right now. I wouldn’t want to say something hurtful and mean while I am angry. That would just be irresponsible now wouldn’t it? Ahem.

I have no internet, cable or telephone until approximately between 8am and 5pm tomorrow and I could really use some anonymous blogging at the moment.

I have no air conditioning and it’s hotter than The Gates of Hell in my house. Furnace is being installed on Wednesday, along with my new air conditioning unit. I was able to swim for about 10 minutes last night before a colossal downpour and thunderstorm struck finding us relegated to the house, again.

Found leaks in my laundry room with the rain and realized that some of it may just be condensation because it’s SO. FUCKING. HOT.

IZ NEED SUM TYME.

• I Hate Kindergarten*
• Greet the dawn, you know, without killing someone….
• On Wanting It All

We’ve owned our new home for all of, what? Maybe 96 hours and I have the entire thing mentally renovated and updated to my really-really-really-must-have-but-likely-can’t-afford standards.

Including my Electrolux appliances. *ahem* Hear that Electrolux? I did my part. I got the house. Now pony up. Please. (Pretty please.)

Mike and I already disagree on just about everything. He hates hardwood, I LOVE hardwood. He thinks a stand alone bathtub – reclaimed claw foot tub – is a waste of money and would decrease the value of the home. I think it’s beautiful and perfect.

*pffft*

Who here is the HGTV design maven? Not him. Me. Yet he wants to fight upgrades and prettiness? I guarantee I will win the brawl. Who’s taken bets?

He’s upset that I’ve already talked to contractors (we know) – professionals – about coming in and changing some of the immediate things. Like this room:

(It’s an image from the listing. That is not my furniture.)

(Totally unrelated, I can’t play anything on a piano except for Chopsticks.)

(I’d like to learn, but I didn’t ask the seller to include the piano.)

(Mike would have said it was a waste of money.)

(He’d be right.)

This room and a ceiling to floor (well, the carpet is staying actually) gut. The walls are original barn board which leaves a smell of, um… wood and lots of wood.

(Ha! Wood.)

Mike wants to be the one to complete this room, but he is a “shoot first think later” type of guy (thank the Lord he’s not a cop) and well, I’m a planner.

The last project we did together he didn’t measure a damn thing, just eyeballed the whole thing. He came back from the Home Depot when two rolls of sod, ten small interlocking stones and a bag of sand.

He was building a walkway.

I shit you not.

In reality he needed three times that and only went back because I nagged the shit out of him asked him to.

So ya. Husband? House? NO TOUCHING.

Maybe he can be my pool boy.

Hello pool!!!

Um. Ya. Wallpaper will be done before I even try and eat a meal in this house.

My plan is to open this up so that the counter goes all the way around to the far wall and the sitting area will be where the dining room is (behind the stove) because we are not dining room people at all.

Mike thinks it’s fine just like this.

[blank stare]

Oh look! A pool!!

I am now accepting applications for my pool boy.

Please send a long a CHEST shot and a photo of you holding your pole.

The telescopic cleaning pool.

Geez.

________________

Hizzy: One’s place of residence. Hizzy.

As in:  We goin to mah hizzy.

(Sounds a little like LOLSpeak to me. *shrugs*)

________________

Editor’s Note: Gosh! (say it like Napoleon Dynamite) I sound like I think my husband is worthless, but I assure you he’s not. He can whip up a mean bacon and eggs. Also? Good daddy. But! Design maven he is not. This is my territory people. I want it.

• On Marriage, Mr. Right, and Wood. Heh. I Said Wood.
• More Home Makeover. Otherwise known as: Operation Save My Sanity
• Love Beyond the Chemistry

Editor’s Note:

I think one of the points I tried to make with my post was that I AM doing both. Right now. I am a WAHM as well as a WOHM. I pretty much lead a double life and in my personal opinion, staying home is EASY compared to the work world and that they’re NOT the same. I do not negate at all that they are both hard. I KNOW THEY’RE HARD. But they’re NOT the same.

The ‘real’ part came from Daphne’s comment about how we don’t have ‘real’ jobs. But to be honest – if it pays the bills: it’s a job. We all know that. I wasn’t clear about my use of the word ‘real’ and I’m sorry for that.

:::

So I typically stay away from the Momversation videos because I get so riled up about things they talk about. I know that’s their goal, but I just get so frustrated and angry about them I have to stop watching; but the other day Miss Zoot made a pointed entry about a recent Momversation episode that got my Working Mom panties all bunched up. Kim’s post had me cheering, nodding, and agreeing with every point she made. Go read it – I’ll wait.

See?

Have you watched the Momversation about being a “working mom”? Go.

Working moms. I scoff at the Internet’s idea of a working mom. Sorry Internets, but I do.

I have been a working mom for the better part of three years; and by working I mean dragging my ass out of bed at 4:45am to get showered and dressed, waking my child(ren), getting breakfast going, dropping off at daycare and sitting in traffic ALL to get to the office by 7:30am.

I work through an eight and a half hour day of telephone calls, emails, meetings, reports, proposals, arguments, disagreements while someone with a higher authority, a boss, dictates my time.

After those eight and a half hours, I get in my car to sit in traffic, pick up my kids at daycare, get dinner going, oversee bath time, read stories and put my children to bed.

I see my children for a total of – at the MOST – three hours a day – and most of that time is spent doing chores like the cooking and bathing. I very rarely have the luxury of sitting down and actually interacting with them.

Let’s talk about being a REAL working mom shall we? Not this fluff about working from home because I’ve been there too. I’ve too worked from home, designing, freelance writing, and trying to manage my house at the same time. I was doing what I could to keep us afloat while home with my children.

There is no comparison. None. I don’t care how high up on the blogging ladder you are: working from home is not even in the same realm as being a Working Mother.

Sure, it’s stressful trying to have that conference call when your child is begging for you to change the channel or get them a drink. It’s stressful for the others on the call too. Trust me. I know. I know it’s tough to pump out that overdue article when your child has a fever and just wants to be held. I. Know.

But!

I would take that “stress” over the possibility of losing my job because the kids have been sick and after first three weeks back to work I have already taken about a week of that in sick days. I’d take that loud and boisterous child in a middle of a conference call over being hauled into the boss’ office to be told that ‘I am not carrying my weight around here’ and reminded that times are tough at the moment and it’s important to learn to BALANCE MY HOME AND WORK LIFE.

Balancing work life and home life while working from home? It’s a fuckin’ joke.

There. I said it.

Daphne even acknowledged the fact that the Momversation was “not talking about ‘real’ work.” Maggie said that she’s “not cut out for that” (meaning the working, daycare, rushed lifestyle). Momversation wasn’t talking about the real stresses of being a WORKING MOM, but why the fuck not? Please don’t elude to the idea of discussing the stresses of being a working mom while only talking those whom are at home, locked away in a room while the kids fend for themselves while mommy makes her video.

I applaud you ladies for showering and putting on make-up to stage your videos for Momversation, I know how hard that can be too – to just have a moment to yourself to shower; but please, don’t for a minute think I feel bad for you.

I know it’s tough to find someone to take care of your child while you escape to Starbucks with your MacBook to get that article done or complete the finishing touches on a design for a client. I KNOW.

But, do you “Working Moms” know how hard it is to fight with your spouse about whose turn it is to stay home from work to mind a sick child? Do you know how hard it is to get a call from the daycare centre in the middle of your first day back in the office and have to tell the boss that you’re leaving? Or how about when you have to leave your premature baby in the hospital to go back to work then rush back to the hospital to spend as much time with them as you possibly can? Not to mention dropping off your 11 month old at the daycare centre knowing that the teachers there will likely witness your child’s first steps before you do.

I know I may alienate some of my work-at home-mom friends by writing this, but those that are truly my friends will understand where I am coming from. I know it’s not easy being a mom. I know it’s not easy working from home. I know it’s not easy having a job that takes us from our family, but please, let’s not pretend that they’re the same thing.

• On Wanting It All
• We Are All Jon & Kate
• Marriage is a Funny Thing

I’m not sure when my affinity for beautiful appliances (or gadgets) (but real gadgets, not *ahem* gadgets) began, but I am addicted.

The shiny newness of their rock hard exterior. The smooth, chiseled body. The gentle, yet strong motion. The sleek, empowering buttons.

I think I have to stop there. This is supposed to be a family *cough*BULLSHIT*cough* site.

One of the great things about searching for a new home is also looking for new fun gadgets appliances. I get to peruse the aisles of the home appliance stores, touching and caressing all the models; shamelessly checking them out while I secretly lust for the one across the way.

Yes, I’m a whore like that. I knowingly and publicly will flaunt it in the face of another.

Electrolux Laundry Appliances have become my drug of choice. I neeeeed them. I waaaaant them. I must haaaaveee them. Ever since she started yapping about them and their beauty I’ve been coveting them more. I’ve been known to secretly check them out during my lunch break. It’s an addiction not unlike that of a dirty old man and his online porn fetish.

Nothing against you dirty old man. I was talking about the OTHER dirty old man.

I want to rub it. Hard.

Just the thought of my laundry being completed in half the time: the clothes, clean and pristine, smelling of vanilla and lavender all warm and comforting makes me really really happy.

I’ve forewarned Mike that he will need another set to keep in the basement or the garage for the dirty and vile work clothes. They will NOT be touching my beauties. There will be no violating these machines with concrete, oil and grout. Not a chance in porno hell (that being old dingy broken machines hidden away in a dark scary concrete hole) will he be putting anything of the like in these machines.

I’ve warned him there may be cutting involved if he even so much as LOOKS at the machines with dirt on his hands.

In fact, I don’t think he will be touching them. At. All.

Not only do their laundry appliances do things to me that no man has been ever able to, (Sorry honey!) but Electrolux Kitchen Appliances? Holy crap on a cracker. I’ve never wanted to boil water cook so bad!

_______________________________________________

This is not an Electrolux sponsored post by any means. But! Should Electrolux choose to sponsor this post or any like it by way of outfitting my new home with all their appliances in lieu of payment for daily posts about their fantasticness who am I to deny Electrolux? Hear that Electrolux? I LOVE YOU like a fat kid loves cake. Kthxbai.

______________________________________________

Sidenote: Mike had a phone conversation last night after sending out his resume yesterday. This morning he had an official interview and now has a new job! I love that in construction you can be out of work one day and less than 72 hours later you have a new job. Talk about a roller coaster ride!!

So needless to say, I’m shopping for a new pretty house to store my (hopefully going to be mine SOON) new beauties.

Random Posts

• grounds for divorce
• ch-ch-check it out!
• Ice Cream, Ice Cream, We All Scream for Ice Cream!

It’s not often anymore that I get the urge to organize / redecorate but when it hits, it’s with a vengeance. Like when I have the thought that I want something done I have to see immediate results or I obsess about it until it’s done; and it can’t be done in stages, it’s all or nothing.

You can imagine how happy this makes my husband.

I’ve been telling him for weeks now how we need more storage in the living room. I insisted on an Expedit shelf from Ikea and he was all “I’m not buying that fuckin’ garbage. I HATE IKEA! Blargh!”, and I was all, “Fuck you, I’m getting the shelf.”

So last night we headed out to Ikea to get my new shelf and baskets for the movies and kids’ toys. Mike was all, “What’s with you and fuckin’ baskets?”, and I was all, “Fuck you, I’m getting baskets.”

I loaded up the cart with six of those $24.99 grass baskets and Mike was all, “Fuckin’ baskets.”, and I was all, “Fuck you, I’m getting the baskets. So suckit.”

Yes, that’s how we talk to each other all the time. It’s fun.

As we loaded the stuff in the car, I checked his inability to stack boxes handy work at tying down the hatch of the car. I kindly mentioned, “That’s not gonna fuckin’ stay idiot. Those boxes are going to fuckin’ fall out all over the damn road.”, and he was all “Fuck off, it’s fine. Just shut up and get in the car.”

We began driving home. The first red light, wouldn’t you know 2 of the three boxes fell from the back into traffic. Thankfully there was no one close behind us that I could send Mike out into traffic to gather them while I bitched from my passenger seat we could gather the boxes to the side of the road.

I was all, “See, I fuckin’ told you. You never listen to me and see what happens.”, to which he replied, “Fuck off already. Jesus. Do you ever shut the hell up?” then I said, “Jesus is dead so I’m pretty sure he’s quiet.”

Edited to Add: And I mean Jesus is dead in his human-life form. Of course.

Then I got the look. You know the one? Where if you say one more word their head is going to impode? So I walked away and let him deal with his colossal fuck up mistake because no one wants that shit all over their car.

Now I have this shelf and about 250 DVD’s that need a new home and the baskets – yes, those fuckn’ baskets – aren’t cutting it.

The picture is not all that clear, but what I am showing you is stacked DVD’s crammed into a beautiful $24.99 basket which I pretty much fought for and it’s not working the way I want.

Not to mention – do you see Teh Awesomness that is in this collection? Cobra? Cliffhanger? Booty Call? Catwoman? Dude’s got issues.

My movies that can be seen here: Dazed and Confused, Benny and Joon, Chasing Amy, Empire Records…  good right? I rest my case.

Edited to add: Mike read the post and insisted I share with you the fact that he does own some rather excellent movies I just pointed out the shitty ones – which is true because how fun is it making fun of good stuff?

So. I have four baskets FULL to the tits with DVD’s and more that need a home.

I don’t want them just ‘out’ because I hate – with the passion of a thousand suns – the look of row upon row of DVD’s.

That’s just me. Fucked in the head and difficult.

So when Mike gets home I have to try and convince him that he should put all his movies into a CD book and store the cases in boxes in the basement. That is unless you, Oh Wise Internets, have another storage idea for me.

Because otherwise, I fear he may rip off my head and shit down my throat.

I wouldn’t put it past him. Have you seen the way he talks to me!?

• On Marriage, Mr. Right, and Wood. Heh. I Said Wood.
• Love Beyond the Chemistry
• Hizzy* Pics!!

How come when you’re dying to go to the washroom in peace, that’s when it all comes down the pipe?

Someone needs a drink; someone needs a new show put on; someone needs to be held; someone needs to know where their pants have gone; someone is hungry….

I long for the day when I can take a shit in peace.

9 467 077.79 minutes

That’s my countdown until Hudson is off to college.

18 years until I can shit and have only one person be asking where his pants are.

• Succomb
• I Hate Kindergarten*
• Failed

When Mike and I were just a young couple, freshly co-habiting, I didn’t care much about the filth that would accumulate in our apartment. So the washroom wasn’t cleaned this week? Meh. There’s always next week.

After living with my cleaning obsessed mother all my life, moving away to college was a nice breather. A break from the everyday regemented cleaning and complaining about cleaning and then, more of the cleaning. I let myself relax, revel in a little mess and sometimes even allow the dishes to sit in the sink overnight. Then overnight turned to every other night…

When we began our careers it was not uncommon for either of us to work 80 hours a week; sweeping, mopping, dusting and de-cluttering slowly fell to the wayside as we got lazier at night and our weekends.

Then we began having kids, starting a family and accumulating more and more adult responsibilities. Work, daycare pick-ups and drop-offs, dinners, baths, bedtimes… another baby… we have always lived in a state of flux. A state of flux that never really included proper cleaning habits.

(Not to say that we’re disgustingly dirty. I do wash dishes and clean the kitchen every. single. night., the laundry is washed regularly – even the bedding – my kids bathe often.)

(I mean the dusting, making the bed, picking up toys, sweeping, mopping, etc.)

As I gaze upon my fuckin’ pig stye of a house I pray for clean.

I long for tidy.

I want to bask in cleanliness.

I beg for a de-cluttered, clean, shiny and desirable space where I can be happy.

(It’s my mother’s fault. She made me crave cleanliness. You think a shrink would accept that excuse reason?)

The tumble weeds of dog and cat hair have overstayed their welcome. The cluttered, toy covered living room gives me hives just looking at it.

I fuckin’ HATE my kitchen floor with a passion. The kitchen being the go-to room of the house, it’s a very high traffic area since it’s so central. I can’t get through one day without heaps of shit accumulating on that floor.

I’ve tried to politely suggest that we behave as adults. Clean up after ourselves, organize and make this place a pleasant home so that I’m not constantly twitching when I enter a room to see the mass of fuckin’ mess that greets me.

Polite requests – which I’ve even used please! and thank you! – are constantly accused of being bitchy and naggy. Should I ask POLITELY that while he’s on his way to shovel the drive way, could he please take the garbage with him – it’s met with grunt, groans and accusations of nagging.

Nagging? You wanna see fuckin’ nagging?!

(I simply requested that he carry a bag outside with him. I’ve even removed and tied the fuckin’ thing, all he has to do is CARRY IT!)

I’ve been accused of nagging so often that I just stopped saying anything at all.

That plan didn’t work so well either. Holding everything in just about KILLED me. Seriously. Had I held in even one more thing about his inability to clean after himself.

* KABBOOOOOM! *

(That would have been the sound of my head exploding.)

For instance – and this is a typical thing that makes me want to stab, stab, kill, KILL! -  I *just* finish wiping the counters down after dinner. I almost have everything tidied and put away when he starts making his lunch.

Wouldn’t you know it. As soon as I turn my damn back there’s another mess? I don’t even think the counters have a chance to dry before they are littered with crumbs and packaging from making his lunch.

* HEAD EXPLODES! *

* KARRRRPLEEEWWYY * <— That’s my head exploding.

I’ve had this conversation with many people: my aunt, my step-mom, my sister-in-law, co-workers, friends – they all have the same stories.

It’s actually kinda comforting knowing we’re in this together. Knowing that mine (my man)  is not the only defected one.

But on the flip side makes me wonder… The. Hell?

Is there a gene missing? A chromosome that was overcooked? Karma?

I say forget Stem Cell Research. What’s really important is finding that fucked up mis-aligned, malformed, degenerate, stupid gene and FIX THAT MOTHERFUCKER!

Make a mandatory shot or something. A shot that all men, save the homosexuals and metrosexuals (because they’re meticulous and wonderful in their own right. I should have married a metrosexual. Seriously.), must take in order to fix these forever-childlike college boys into cleaning, helping around the house MEN.

We could ensure they take The Shot by taking away their fun activities – like Teh Sex, video games, poker, sports, etc. until The Shot has been administered and verified. And we can verify The Shot has been given by – well, I haven’t thought that far, maybe a a  CAPTCHA?  Or if that won’t work, I’m okay with a giant fuckin’ tattoo on their foreheads.

I presume this whole plan will never come to fruition. It shall go awry and I’ll be left with fuckin’ bread crumbs on my counter for life.

This rant has been brought to you by my vagina. Thanks to my vagina I have raging hormones which can’t always be controlled. Chocolate can only do so much people.

Maybe I need my own CAPTCHA?

I have always said, and will continue to say that men should be kept underground in a cave and used strictly for breeding purposes and sexual favours.

Now excuse me while I go dig a cave.

• We Are All Jon & Kate
• Marriage is a Funny Thing
• Check Your Sexism At The Door Mister

As we pulled into the parking space, Carter pipes up: That’s where the boy fell because his Mommy wasn’t paying attention. I was a little shocked that he remembered the incident and also that he was so quick to blame the mom.

Why is everything mom’s fault?

Sufficed to say, it kinda hit a nerve with me.

If dinner’s not on the table, laundry is not washed and *someone* can’t find socks / a belt / underwear / a shirt it’s because of something the mom has or has not done. Even with all the talk of gender equality and co-parenting, there seems to be this undefined line which isn’t crossed – like it’s invasion in mom’s territory or something.

A few friends of mine have fallen into the very gender traditional roles; child rearing, cooking laundry and what have you, and I don’t want to say cater, but cater to their husbands. For them, it’s what they want, they’re happy and that’s fantastic. It’s not for me.

I am not happy when I am called to see what’s for dinner, when I’m asked if I’ve washed his work clothes yet. I instantly get upset: I can’t help it, a knee jerk reaction. I’m on the defensive immediately. Maybe I find it degrading or sexist? I dunno. Don’t get me wrong, I will do these things, but as soon as it’s requested of me it irks me.

Mike’s commented before about co-workers whose wives make their lunches daily. I do not and have not ever made his lunch, nor do I wash his work clothes; but for some reason I feel guilty when he mentions it. I feel as though I am not fulfilling my “duties” as a wife. I’m not keeping my husband happy by providing what he requests of me. How 1950′s is THAT!?

Maybe my house would be cleaner, activities would be better organized and I would be happier if I just changed my tune. I can’t tell you why I take it to heart the way I do, I’m just hardwired to be independent and refuse to cater to a man I suppose, I can’t think of any other reason for it aside from just being plain ass lazy. Maybe I was a housemaid is a previous life?

What about you? Are you happy to do the “stereotypical mom duties” or are you like me and revolt?

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