Stepford goes to Church

For about the last, oh I don’t know, maybe 5 years, Wonderful Husband and I have been saying we are going to find a church.

While we both had very different experiences growing up in the church, his being loving and stable and picturesque, mine being weird and rocky and ending when I was around 10, we both agreed that we didn’t want to let God disappear from our lives.

He was raised a Lutheran. I was raised a, well, I’m not real sure, we traveled a lot and went to many different churches. Some danced in the aisles and spoke in tongues. Some didn’t even approve of clapping during music. We never really found anywhere that we fit and finally stopped going in the mid 2000’s. So when it came time to pick a church, we could never really decide on what we wanted to be.

I was confused by lutheran-ism (is that a word? I’m not even sure that’s a word), they had their own book they taught from and the pastor wore weird clothes and they didn’t even want to let my dad give me away at my wedding (I won that argument, in case you were wondering). I wanted a fun church where we could be free to express our love of God, but I needed some structure because I had basically forgotten everything except basic bible stories. After a few debates about it, and realizing that in a ghetto crack town there are two options of churches- stuffy white people or crazy black people- we sort of let it slide.

When Little Darling came along I was determined that we would find a church. I called on a few local pastors. I drove past a few churches. I was reminded, again, that if we wanted anything with substance (not substance abuse) we would need to travel a ways. And at that point Wonderful Husband was traveling all the time, and the thought of entering a new place alone with a baby gave me anxiety, let alone keeping said baby quiet for an hour during a sermon. Nope. Couldn’t do it.

So, last year, I came to the decision that as soon as we were set up in West Virginia, we WOULD find a church. And we would attend said church. Regularly. We may even go to bible school. We needed a church family and a support system since we would be so far away from our own families. I didn’t care if we had to become Catholics, my kids would know God and bible stories, and have some friends who knew about such things too.

Then we moved to West Virginia and I got scared all over again and every Sunday would squeak by and I would make excuses. Wonderful Husband is away. Wonderful Husband is home, but has been away and we should enjoy our time. We shouldn’t pick a church until we know where we will be living permanently. We don’t even know the service times. We may not pick a good one. I don’t wanna go.

Last week, in the middle of the day, a little blue car pulled up my driveway and out popped a ridiculously cheerful lady. She introduced herself and explained that she, her mother, and her sister are all our neighbors! They had seen we were new to the area and wanted to introduce themselves, they brought me a little gift of homemade apple butter and a magnet from their church. They attend a Methodist church that is 3 miles down the road. She didn’t make a big fuss about it, just let me know that the service times were on the magnet and they’d love to have us.

Now, there are plenty of things in my life that I can’t take a hint about. When I ask if I should eat that last donut and my love handles jiggle back “for the love of God, please stop eating”, you better believe, I am gonna eat that donut. When I am pleasantly polluted and feeling fine and think- should I have another glass of wine before bed? I am gonna have another glass, even as WH is reminding me what happened last time I had one too many.

However, something about this random stranger dropping in to meet me, say hello, squeeze my babies cheeks, and drop a line about a church, rang with me. As if God was like “hey Bitch, get your ass to church and quit putting it off” (ok, maybe not in those words, but probably close because it has been YEARS of me saying I was going to go and then not doing it). So I stuck the magnet on the fridge, and kept the thought in the back of my head that if Wonderful Husband was home next Sunday, we just may take a trip down the road.

What do ya know. Wonderful Husband got today off. So I woke up early, made pancakes, and declared that we would be attending church this morning.

Service started at 11am, and at 10:42 we were sitting in the parking lot coming up with a game plan on how to escape if it all went to hell. The church looked ok on the outside, a small, old building with stained glass windows and a steeple. There were, however, two old men standing in the parking lot glaring at us.

We tentatively got out and started to walk up to the front door, one of the grumpy old men stopped us and said we could go in the basement, there were cookies and coffee. We politely declined and headed to the steps when an old lady slammed the door open with a boisterous “HELLO! Come on in! We have SNACKS!!” and we found ourselves being herded into a small, stuffy basement with about 15 old women who were about to pee themselves with excitement.

The conversations were hectic and overwhelming. They all pushed in at us clamoring about how great it was to have new comers, could they get us some coffee, can Little Darling have a cookie, how old is Little Littles, Oh They just LOVE Children.

We made our way to the back and collapsed into folding chairs. A lady brought Wonderful Husband a coffee, another lady brought Little Darling a baggie of goldfish, there was a little boy running around and Little Darling ditched the goldfish to make a new friend. They hurriedly explained that it’s not normally so calm and laid back, however, they always give their pastor the 5th Sunday of the month off, so he and his family were away and they were just going to do a short and easy service (in all honesty I do not believe there was going to be any service until we showed up). At 11am, we all herded upstairs to the tiny sanctuary with pews going in every direction to make them all fit in. With a congregation totaling no more than 25 and only 3 of those being men (including WH) We sang hymns, we took prayer requests, a lady from the congregation gave a short sermon, they laid hands on an older lady who was having health issues, we sang a closing song, we were done.

At every break in the service, after a song, after a prayer, at least one person in the congregation would turn around and tell us how happy they were to see us. The neighbors who had stopped down were over joyed, gave me their phone numbers, and told me I could call them if I ever needed anything. They exclaimed that they hoped they hadn’t scared us off being it was so laid back and informal. We were recognized from the pulpit that it was so great to have newcomers and they just loved having children in the congregation. We were invited to VBS in June, and bible school every Sunday at 9:30am, and reminded that on normal Sundays when Pastor is there they do a children’s message.

We got out to the car and breathed a sigh of relief. We did it. We survived. And not only was it not painful, it was enjoyable! The entire time we were there, I felt at home. I didn’t feel like anyone was judging me, I didn’t feel like I was a stranger in someone else’s church. I felt comfortable, like I had just spent an hour with 15 of my closest grandmas.

I have already decided that we will go again. I’d like to see what it’s like when the pastor is there and does a sermon. I may even like to see what bible school is all about. I don’t feel any anxiety about returning if Wonderful Husband is away working.

I feel like we are on to something, even if we go a few times and decide this isn’t the place for us. We have passed that hurtle of making ourselves go and putting ourselves out there. We are on back on the path, and it feels good.

Well, that didn’t go as planned..

Today has been EXHAUSTING.

Like for real.

Lets take a walk through my day…

We got up, we had breakfast, we got dressed in clothing that doesn’t contain the words “pjs”, “sweat”, or “yoga” (ok, confession, I was wearing leggings. But they were LulaRoe and a fun springy blue flower pattern, so they are basically real pants OK!?). We put a movie on TV and played on the floor. It was a soggy, grey morning, but who cares, we were having fun. It was gonna be a good day.

My phone had been dead when I woke up, which was weird, because it had like 25% when I went to bed, so it should have been fine. Maybe I had a billion notifications on Facebook (or a certain blog that had been recently updated) and it had killed my phone. I plugged it in and went about my day.

Yea. My phone was dead because Wonderful Husband had been trying to get a hold of me for about three hours regarding the DMV, transferring our registrations to WV, and Uhaul receipts we needed to turn in to his employer to get reimbursement.


Soooo, by the time my phone turned on and one of his 6,000 phone calls came through, you can imagine what I heard on the other end of that line.

What ensued, can only be described as complete an utter chaos, or also commonly referred to as a normal day in a house with two under 3.

As I was trying to simultaneously call the bank with our car loan, make a bottle for Little Littles, and explain to Little Darling that I was, in fact, NOT on the phone with daddy, some random old guy shows up at my front door.

Thankfully, old dude was looking for a different house. Easy peasy. Nope, wrong house, k bye.

The bank is drolling on and on about how if the DMV has faxed the paperwork and they haven’t received it there is nothing they can do. Perhaps I could personally fax a request on DMV letterhead, and then wait 2 hours and call back with the date, time, number of pages, and fax number from which the fax had come from and perhaps they could track it down. Then they could fax the title to me, and I could hand deliver it to the DMV.

I can smell poop.

I look over and Little Littles, while still wailing for a bottle, is on all fours and poop is leaking out the top of her diaper, centimeters from her shirt, and mere inches from my brand. New. Rug.

So now I get to argue with The Bank about how I am not doing any of the nonsense they are suggesting, they and the DMV need to handle it or my car will just stay registered in PA forever, while I wrestle a screaming baby to floor and try to change a poopy diaper with one hand. All while Little Darling is still circling me saying “I TALK DADDY??”

I finally completely lost my shit, told The Bank to go to Hell, and hung up. Click. I got the bottle warmed up and ready for Little Littles, we are only about 15 minutes behind schedule for LL’s first nap,  and Little Darling announces she has to go potty.

This is my life.

So we run to the potty and spend 3 minutes fiddling around until I, again, lose my cool and shout GET OFF THE POTTY!

Now Little Darling is laying on the floor pouting, Little Littles has her bottle and is happily eating, and Wonderful Husband is blowing up my phone for the Uhaul receipts that I have, yet again, forgotten to send. I can’t imagine how it slipped my mind.

Little Littles drinks her bottle and goes to sleep. I send the Uhaul receipts. I get a load of laundry going, Little Darling gets a snack, and we head to the basement to clean.

Little Darling is playing in the guest room, getting in and out of the bed and fluffing the covers. I am cleaning the litter box, organizing some items in the pantry, and realizing it was much, much too quiet.

I head over to the guest room and Little Darling is sitting dead silent and still in the bed.

She looks at me and says “potty”

I became a raging lunatic. I ripped her out of the bed and saw the huge wet spot where she had indeed peed on our guest bed.

I spanked her. And then for good measure, I spanked her again. I couldn’t even form a sentence I was so angry. I was screaming words like BED and BATHROOM and JESUS CHRIST over and over again.

I grabbed her hand and half dragged her up the stairs to her bathroom. I forced her into the shower, which was too cold and she started crying. I rinsed her off, gave her a towel, slammed her into bed and told her not to move until I came back.

I could hear the wails echoing as I was stripping the bed, starting a new load of laundry, and cursing whoever thought up potty training. I cleaned up pee prints up the steps and down the hallway. I scrubbed the mattress with vinegar and set up a fan to help it dry.

Wonderful Husband calls to tell me I have sent the wrong part of the receipt (with much more colorful language) and requests I take new pictures and send the correct part.

I have had about as much of this day as I can possibly handle.

I finally went to face my child, who was still half sobbing in her bed. I explained that she is definitely old enough to know better than to pee anywhere but the potty and it was totally unacceptable to pee on the bed. However, I know I was a bit harsh in my reaction and I should have handled it better. We hugged it out and I told her that while I was sorry, she still couldn’t watch tv for the rest of the day, and if she pees on another piece of furniture I will beat her until she can’t see straight. She agreed and asked if we could color at the new table. Yea, really scarred for life. Not.

We spent some time coloring and building with blocks. Little Littles woke up and we had a nice lunch. We re-entered the basement and the girls played happily together while I dragged all the gym equipment into the house from the garage and set up the home gym in one of our spare rooms.

Then it was nap time. Glorious afternoon nap time. When both girls nap at the same time and I get two hours of child-free, mommy time. Today, I collapsed in bed and decided I would take a nap and not even feel guilty.

Little Littles had other plans, of course, and only slept for about 40 minutes.

Since she was up, I decided I would start on some dinner plans. Which is how I came up with this delicious Chicken Spinach One Pot Meal. Easy, full of veggies and protein, and just enough pasta to be a comfort food on a crappy day.

Chicken Spinach One Pot Pasta

3 chicken breasts, cut into pieces
Olive Oil
1 Tomato
1 small Zucchini
4 Garlic Cloves
2 Cups pasta- I used Penne
3.5 Cups water
Basil seasoning-  I used Pampered Chef Sweet Basil
3 Cups chopped Spinach
3oz Cream Cheese
1/2 Cup Milk
Parmesan Cheese

1.In a big pot, heat up some olive oil and add the chicken. Cook until the chicken is about done, no visible pink on the outside

2. Add tomatoes, and garlic. Cook until tomatoes start to get tender.

3. Add water, salt, pepper, and seasonings. Bring to a boil.

4. Add the pasta and cook until pasta is tender, most of your water should be about gone.

5. Add milk, cream cheese and zucchini. Stir and bring to a simmer.

6. Add the spinach and stir well. Keep it simmering and add some Parmesan cheese to taste.

There you go. Easy to make, easy to clean up, and super delicious. Little Darling cleaned her plate, and had seconds. Little Littles ate almost a whole portion by herself.

So. Today was a shitty day. I fought with my husband. I flipped out on my kid. But tomorrow is another day, and I intend to make it great!



Nobody Cares About Happiness

Why is it that when we are happy we have a hard time telling people about it?

I don’t mean your super peppy status on Facebook, or your Save the Date announcement.

I mean general, every day happiness.

When was the last time you texted your best friend and said “everything in my life is amazing! How are you?”

I can probably answer that.


Here is the way most of my conversations with friends start:

“You are never going to believe what Wonderful Husband said”

“Guess who just started their period, not pregnant again :-(”

“So mad ______ just died on SOA!”

It is basically never positive. And when they text me it is the same thing. It seems to be a general rule that the only time you can talk to other people is when you have something to complain about.

But why is that? Why don’t we tell our friends when we are really happy?

When I am home alone for weeks at a time, or when Little Darling is having a really crappy day I reach out to my friends to vent and complain and bitch about my unhappiness. But when Wonderful Husband is home and we are having a great time being a family and Little Darling is being pleasant and sweet, I forget my phone exists and live in the moment. I almost feel guilty to reach out to my friends to tell them what a great time I am having in my life.

When did this stigma happen where we can’t just call up a friend and say, hey I was thinking of you, how are you?

I am generally always happy. I have my times where I want to scream in frustration and I need to vent. But why is there this compelling need to complain about things? Even when you are having a good day and someone complains about something, you feel the need to complain too. When you are in a conversation with a stranger or someone you don’t know that well, do you talk about good things or do you find yourself complaining about things? i.e. yea this store used to be good, but the service lately sucks! We have been in line forever! Or, yea she is a really good walker, but she isn’t talking yet!

Think about it. When was the last time you complained about something?

Was it truly worth it?

Lets all resolve to be happier this year, and not just be happier but to share that happiness with our friends and family. If you are having a really great week call someone who means something to you and ask them how they are doing and tell them you are doing good. If someone pays you a compliment in a store or at a party say thank you, don’t dismiss it. It isn’t bragging, it isn’t bad. Sharing happiness and love is a good thing and we could all stand to do a little more of it.


I can’t win

I swear some days I can’t win for losing. Nothing goes right and no matter how hard I try I just break everything I touch. It probably comes as no shock to most women that this normally happens close to my cycle. It’s like my body can’t handle the extra hormones so it just funnels together and makes me clumsy and stupid.

Last week Little Darling and I were both really sick with some weird cold/flu bug. Fevers and coughing and snot and stuffy noses. It was awful and ultimately led to a disgusting house, a lack of laundry, and a general sense or disorder. I did five loads of laundry yesterday to catch up, all the sheets and blankets and dirty clothes. It was insane. I still had to wash and switch out a bunch of Little Darlings new winter clothes that were given to us by a friend, so that happened. I had to run the dishwasher twice to catch up on dishes and that didn’t even include last nights dinner dishes. It was a rough, rough week.

Today we had to go grocery shopping to replenish the empty fridge and cabinets and get ourselves back on track with healthy food. Little Darling had a hot mess melt down in the middle of Aldi with screaming and crying and flailing so hard she lost a shoe. Then in Walmart I tried to buy a new pair of skinny jeans and ended up having to buy a size 11- I have NEVER been in double digit pant sizes before- so that led to depression and guilt and promises that I was never eating again and I was a fatty-mcfat-fat, a disgusting cow, ugh. I don’t care that all pant sizes are different, and I don’t care that my size 7 jeans at home fit just fine. I care that I was a size 2 before I had the baby, and while I know I will probably never be a size 2 again, I can’t stand being this big.

I was feeling so guilty when I got home that I decided to make fat flush cabbage soup for dinner. Basically cabbage and tomatoes and a few other veggies in chicken broth. I added some cayenne pepper and lime juice to punch it up a little bit.

Really, in the back of my mind, I knew, that anything with “fat flush” in its name should just be called “toilet flush”. And I don’t really know why it didn’t dawn on me while I was making this soup that I was probably going to regret it quickly. But, nonetheless, I made a huge pot. Wonderful Husband informed me he wouldn’t be eating it and instead asked to go to the bar with some friends. I said fine, I had big plans of working on the remodel tonight anyways.

Within about twenty minutes of eating the soup I was regretting it. I will spare you the gory details and lets just say that I will probably lose some weight from eating this giant pot of soup over the next few days. So that’s a silver lining.

With the fat flushing out of the way, I geared up to paint the newly installed crown moulding in the bathroom. It’s a long story, but we ended up using moulding instead of finishing the corners where the walls meet the ceiling so now the ceiling needed painted to up to the moulding and the moulding needed painted to match the ceiling. I crawled up in the attic and got the paint and a paintbrush and went to work opening the can.

Wonderful husband had already given me the lecture about not getting paint all over the brush and how to clean it properly etc. He is still steamed that last week while I was trying to clear coat the trim for Little Darlings door I ruined a $20 brush. My bad. He was currently downstairs getting ready to head out to meet his friends. I first used a screwdriver and jabbed at the edge of the can. I have painted many rooms and have opened many cans of paint. However, this can would not budge. I got a bigger screw driver and tried again. No luck. I dug through Wonderful Husbands tool box and got what appeared to be a small file and started pushing it under the lip of the can. The file glanced off the edge, skimmed across the top, and lodged in my hand. Legitimately, the file was stuck in the webbing between my thumb and pointer finger. I stared it for several seconds while curse words formed in my head. Too shocked to even make a noise, I slowly pulled the file out of my hand and held it up to look at the damage. Blood started seeping out of the perfect slice across my skin. Shit.

I wandered around the room for a second, sort of dazed and confused and not really sure how to proceed. I finally headed down the steps to the kitchen so I could rinse it off. Halfway down I heard Wonderful Husband in the dining room- What did you do now?

Not wanting to seem stupid, I said I couldn’t get the paint can opened and I accidentally cut myself. He asked what I was using to open the can and I replied that I was using the little file from the tool box.

I washed my hand off and got a paper towel and he followed me back upstairs to open the can for me. While I was in the bathroom getting a band aid I hear him sigh resignedly and say “By -little file- do you mean the wood chipper?” .. I dunno.. isn’t a wood chipper the thing they put bodies in in Fargo? I sure as hell know not to put a can of paint in a wood chipper. Come on.. I’m not that stupid.

I exited the bathroom to see Wonderful Husband holding my small file and I said yea that! He looked at me… “And again.. Dearrr.. This is an expensive tool and you are using to try and open a can of paint! This is a wood chipper, it is made to chip wood. Ya know, like to cut it. See this?? (points to end of file that sliced my hand) This is a blaaaaadddde, it will cut you. And now its all broken from you jamming it in to the paint can”

Well geeez, sue me. I didn’t know it was so fancy and important. Looked like a little file to me. And those are dime a dozen. Maybe he should label his tools. Or maybe I should stop trying to do shit on my own.

He grabbed a screw driver and popped open the can of paint. Gave me one last warning about not messing things up and went on his way to meet his friends.

I got my step stool and proceeded to paint all the crown moulding and the bits of ceiling that needed done and then put the lid back on the can of paint and went to wash out the brush. Needless to say, I got paint all over those bristles. His nonsensical warning about not getting paint past the top inch of brush- HA. What kind of painter can paint like that? Ok, probably most good painters can, but guess what, I’m a house wife, not a painter. So there was paint EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t get it all off and ended up having to text Wonderful Husband for instructions on how to get it clean to the best of my ability.

When I got all done and had the brush properly cleaned and put away, I was gathering up my stuff to head downstairs when I heard a dripping sound. It sounded like it was coming from the new master closet, you know, where we just ran all the brand new plumbing? I panicked. I had to investigate, because GOD FORBID there be a leak in our brand new plumbing and brand new master closet. Never fear! Stepford is here! I will surprise Wonderful Husband by being construction-y (?) and find the leak and fix it and save the day.

I proceeded to walk into the closet and electrocute myself on the newly installed light switch which isn’t screwed into the wall yet. After recovering from the shock of my life- for reals- I crawled all over that closet (with a flashlight of course, I wasn’t about to touch that stupid switch again), Little Darlings room, the kitchen, and even the attic looking for the source of the drip. I finally texted Wonderful Husband that I feared a leak, only to receive a response that it is just the stink pipe dripping down the inside and falling onto the elbow of the pipe. Nothing to be concerned about.

So, if anyone needs me, I will be in hiding until my period is over. It obviously isn’t safe for me to be out among real people while on it. The hormones can’t be trusted.


(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

5 Things That Make You A Lazy Mom

I deleted my Facebook. Or rather, I deleted the app off my phone and do not allow myself to check Facebook anymore because I get too emotionally vested in what is happening. However, my account is still active, and I get an email when I have more than 10 notifications pending on Facebook. Apparently, everyone I know is still tagging me in everything because I got an email that the other day that I had 37 notifications waiting for me. Yikes.

I bit the bullet and logged on to the website. I surfed through the notifications, mostly pictures and articles and the like. And then I got caught on the News Feed. Talk about depressing and anger inducing. I don’t know why it is so popular! I scrolled through and my eyes caught on an article entitled “What it takes to be one of those moms who has it all together”. It made me pause. I finally clicked on it.

What I read, was a sad, droning article about how some of these moms “pretend” to have it all together but they are just hiding things. Their house may look clean, but their closets are stashed with crap they haven’t organized, or they may bring a gorgeous snack to daycare but they really only got three hours of sleep the previous night.

I call bull shit.

I am so sick of women all over the world acting like their life is soooooo hard. Women who act like they can’t wash a sink full of dishes or they can’t wash more than one load of laundry every week. Here’s a tip- get the eff off Facebook and do something with your day instead of sitting around reading articles on how it’s ok to not have your shit together. Because, here’s the kicker, it’s not ok!

Here is a fun list of 5 things that make you a lazy mom, if you check off more than one or two, take a look in the mirror and rethink your life. #sorrynotsorry

5 things that make you a lazy mom

  1. You don’t shower on a daily or regular basisI am sick of this nonsensical myth where women act like they are “too busy” to shower every day. What the hell? Your child sleeps don’t they? It literally takes 10 minutes to shower, and that is including time to shave my legs. You need to shower like you mean it, don’t waste time standing under the water contemplating life and don’t act like your hair is that important that you need to let that conditioner set for 20 minutes, if you aren’t showering regularly you obviously don’t care that much about your hair either. Get up before your kids, stay up later than your kids, utilize nap time for something other than Facebook and TV.
  2. You don’t remember the last time you did your hair/make up or got dressed properlyOk listen, I know that the days of full make up and hair straighteners is mostly over. It is a lot to maintain, even I got a mom hair cut so that I wouldn’t have to mess with a straightener on a regular basis. But seriously ladies, how hard is it to put on some BB cream and mascara? Let me answer that, NOT THAT HARD. It’s call the five minute face for a reason. Learn it. Use it. Love it. And while you’re at it, put on something other than yoga pants. Try a pair of jeans, or even jeggings. Something that you wouldn’t be ashamed to be wearing if you saw someone you knew your worst enemy. Just think, you are coming out of the grocery store in your dirty yogas and over sized hoodie when you are face to face with that one person you just hate. Do you really want her to be able to go home and tell all her friends “and do you know what she was wearing…?!” Nope. Make that bitch work for her gossip.
  3. Your house is a mess on the regularI get it, certain rooms in the house are likely to be more messy than others while the child is awake. The living room is probably going to be strewn with toys and the kitchen is bound to have dishes pile up during the day while you are spending time with your kid. But seriously. Clean up the toys, run the vacuum, utilize a duster for God’s sake. Run the dishwasher and then *gasp* unload it and put the dishes away! No one is going to believe you if they end up in your basement and you are muttering excuses about how you are a little behind on laundry when the pile of dirty clothes is touching your rafters. Doing laundry is seriously one of the easiest chores that exists. You put the laundry in the washer, you turn the washer on. You swap the laundry into the dryer. Even folding it takes about 10 minutes. Set a timer, I bet it doesn’t take more than 10 minutes to fold and put away a load of laundry. I know there are times when we all get behind and there is a day where you feel like you are drowning in laundry, but that’s your job. You agreed to do laundry when you signed on to be a stay at home mom.
  4. You put things offWhy bother running the sweeper today? You can always do it tomorrow. Why do the lunch dishes when you know dinner dishes are coming in just a few hours? Ugh. It annoys the shit out of me when people put things off for no reason. Is the garbage can full? Take out the trash! Do bills need paid? Write out the checks and put them in the mail! Most of the things that I see people putting off take about 30 seconds to complete. I mean large projects like cleaning out the attic are time consuming, but they still need done. Stop piling things on the dining room table, in the closet, or on the basement floor. Pick them up, sort through them and then deal with them accordingly. What happens if you have a guest over and they open your coat closet? It will look like something out a damn movie with all kinds of trinkets and crap falling all over them. That would be embarrassing for them, and you, and all around bad. Stop putting things off and do it now. You will thank yourself later when you are more caught up. Try making a list of 5 things. You can’t turn on the TV until those 5 things are done. It’ll go faster than you think.
  5. You are constantly making excuses.I was going to but.. If you find yourself using this statement more than twice a day, you are probably lazy. People who are constantly whining about how tired, busy, overworked, or overwhelmed they are are just lazy. Here’s a fun fact: Everybody who is an adult is tired. We are all busy. We all have lives and commitments and thing to get done. Its like that meme that you constantly see on Pinterest- Somebody who is busier than you is working out and eating right right now. That’s exactly how housework works. Yes, we have kids who are like little whirling dervishes of activity that make messes, but we are also home all day to combat those messes. Stop acting like you are the only person who has ever had a kid or two or three and like your job is so ridiculously hard that its impossible to have a clean house, a clean body, and a clean child. That’s stupid. Nobody *really* feels sorry for you, they are just nodding their head and thinking to themselves WTF. There are millions of moms out there who are “doing it all” on a daily basis and keeping up just fine. It’s called balance, routine, and motivation. Make yourself a daily chore list of what chores get done on what day. Make yourself a to do list on the daily of things that need to be accomplished. Stop procrastinating.  If you had a job outside the home and you worked like you take care of your home, you would be fired!

Can you imagine going into a job outside the home and complaining to your boss how tired you are and how you can’t keep up with your daily activities because it’s too hard? Yea. That’s exactly how your husband feels when he comes home to a dirty house, a dirty wife, and wild child. He works hard all day so he can come home and put his feet up and relax without having to scrape goo off the couch and without wondering if he is going to have clean underwear for work tomorrow.

This is your job.

Take is seriously.