Are you kidding?!

UGH!

 

This morning I went in to check on Sean to find he had thrown up in the middle of the night and not cried out.  He’s running a fever as well.  He keeps bouncing from being happy and energetic to Mommy-I-need-you-to-hold-me.  I had to wash his blanky, which caused a flood of tears.

 

Add to that the house falling apart with lack of housework and the destructive path of two tornadoes and a husband.  Did I forget to mention I’m in the middle of several projects including crafts for Valentine’s Day and an upcoming baby shower (yes, I mean you, the Violinist)?  I am completely crazed and stressed, which my poor husband noted as I ticked off a list of must-do-today-or-the-world-falls-apart as he exited his shower.  (I’m a bit melodramatic and respect no one’s privacy.)  So if I don’t write a real post, you know why.  If I don’t respond to your witty, clever responses, you know why.  If I haven’t read your hilarious and insightful blog, you know why.  How I miss reading blogs. 

 

Oh, dryer beeped.  Gotta go!  Wait!  Is that the sound of tape being pulled?  Cra-

I’m sorry, but . . .

Evan pushed Sean.  I demand Evan to apologize to Sean, wondering if I should put Evan in a time out, but I decided an apology was enough.

 

Evan: I’m sorry Seanny for pushing you, but you shouldn’t have tried to take my bike.

 

That’s not what I meant at all!

 

I’m sorry I hit you, but your face was in the way of my fist.

I’m sorry I ate the last pizza, but you weren’t there.

I’m sorry, officer, but you shouldn’t have been radaring me.

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An Amendment

(Faemom peeks around the door, takes a deep breath, and runs to the key board to begin typing.)

 

Ok, I have to do this post seriously and this is like my thirtieth try.  Do you remember yesterday’s post, Hey is that a soap box?: Sugar Babies and Daddies?  Well, it turns out my husband read it too (and apparently he’s been reading my posts this week).  He read yesterday’s post and took away the valuable lesson that his wife is willing to divorce him at the drop of a hat. ————————-  (See THAT!  That was an edited joke.  *sigh* This is so hard.  Comedy is in my blood.  Ok, deep breath.)

 

Well, I’m not.  ———————– *take a deep breath*  I pointed out that if he decided he wanted  ————- a mistress that he was welcome to her as soon as we signed the papers, and damn straight, he was going to pay through the nose for the privilege. 

 

My husband would like to reassure my readers that he has no interest in finding some one else because ————— – he loves me.  (anditstooexpensive)  He loves the boys.  He loves our family.  He loves our home.  ———————–  He would never endanger that for some gold digger.  I believe him.  I also mentioned that he could always go on the blog and defend himself, like ck’s husband.  But he just threatened starting his own blog, and the scary part is he does internet marketing.

 

Ok.  Now I have to write something funny and email the full transcript to my best friend because I need to share with SOMEONE my comedic genius.

 

 

 

On Sunday Blogging

I regret to inform my readers that due to the crazy and complex nature of the newest scheme in my household I must give up Sunday blogging to keep this ship afloat.  It’s amazing what can be accomplished in two hours time, and I fear that the next few months will need a lot of time devoted to the maneuver that my husband and I are trying to execute.  At this moment, the plan is on a need to know basis, and I will divulge as soon as I can.  But know that while I am waist deep in shit, I will be thinking of you and wishing I was blogging instead of agreeing to the newest plan of my husband’s.  If I begin to write intermittedly, which I hope I won’t, you know why.  Or you will.  Time to get back to the shoveling coal in the engine.

                                                        -Faemom

 

P.S. I hope to resume Sunday blogging as soon as I can.

Apologies

To my Beloved Readers,

        Especially Penelope, badmommymoments, and Lindsey,

 

I apologize for my rant yesterday.  It is one of my fatal flows to allow myself a short snapping fuse that explodes with a horrible rant, like a thunderstorm that comes in, destroys, and leaves.  I thank you for reading and responding.  (I can actually picture badmommymomments rolling her eyes.)  I told my father about my rant who told me I’m becoming too sensitive, which is probably true.  He listens to my rants quietly and then turns the mirror my way, so does my best friend.  Maybe I’m a little unbalanced because she’s away, yet again, for her work, and I think it just might be that time of the month.

 

But really you didn’t need to witness (or read) a whiney, angry rant with all bark and no bite, sort of.  What was I pissed about that some one wants to be June Clever?  I don’t, so why should I care?  And I really don’t understand how you do it Lindsey with everything you do around your house or you, Penelope, with a professorship and two boys.  I’m amazed.  I promise I will reread To Hell with All That and clarify myself better, and I think I might read a few other books on the subject as well, seeing that this hit some nerve that needs to be explored.

 

As I also explained my actions today to my husband as he fixed himself a plate, he didn’t see my problem with the word housewife as the book explains it.  So I casually asked if he wouldn’t mind be called a househusband*.  He said he preferred the term domestic economist.  Ha!

 

So in conclusion, I again thank you for your patience, and if I write about this weirdness of being a housewife as I come to terms with it, fill free to roll your eyes and move on to the next post.  And badmommymomments, you might have noticed I said a dozen cookies out of the refrigerated dough, which actually comes in 18 cookie packs.  I eat a half dozen raw.


* My husband dreams of the day where he has retired with a large sum; while I go to work.   He believes he’ll be able to do a better job than me, even though he is allergic to house work. He has actually said, “I’ll have gourmet food on the table, the kids cleaned and not fighting, and the house will look so good Better Homes and Gardens will want take its picture.”  Granted this vision is several years away, and the said kids will be in school.