Category Archives: Childern

5 Most Awkward Parenting Moments

I know it’s been awhile since I have posted, lets blame it on the fact that I ran out of coffee.

So, I was laying in bed last night, letting my boisterous brain do it’s nightly thing and run wild till I passed out. I have no idea where the idea came from but I started to think of all the awkward moments of parenthood. I’m not talking about going to Wal-Mart while wearing banana in your hair or when your tot repeats his favorite F- Word during Thanksgiving dinner. I’m talking about the really gritty moments, the ones that make you go online and look for new neighborhoods to move to. This led to me wondering if I was alone on this odd, and sometimes painful, trip down memory lane or if perhaps my most awkward reflects were a common occurrences in the crazy world of parenting. I listed my most embarrassing and amusing moments just for you entertainment. Please, ignore the sobbing.

5. Who Hasn’t Seen My Who-Ha?

Some people think pregnancy is a very beautiful, majestic thing. I, on the other hand, think it’s not only disgusting but also embarrassing. During my whole pregnancy I didn’t see the wonderful, beautiful pregnant women everyone else saw. I saw a fat, bloated, gassy, messy looking women with nice skin. I was impressed with the whole process, a human being made in my uterus, but the new changes outside was one hot mess. Childbirth was even more humiliating. I told my mid-wife how worried I was about accidentally farting in her face, or even worse, pooping on her when the time for delivery came around. Not to mention I saw videos of how it looks down there and it is not pretty, don’t care what you say. But yes, people looking at your Vajayjay is part of being a women.


Just in case there are some out there that hasn’t gotten a view

So there I am laying in the stirrups, baby freshly popped out, awaiting to hear the details of the damage done, when I hear the twenty nurses (exaggeration, it was more like four) yelling, “Sir, you can’t be in here.” See I told the birthing staff that I didn’t want anyone in the room besides my husband and necessary medical personnel. My father, in his moment of pure eagerness and intense excitement, decided to follow the sounds of screaming grandchild and ran into the delivery room. Instead of being greeted by the sight of his beautiful granddaughter; he got front row, million dollar view of my who-ha being stitched up. There is some people who SHOULD NEVER see you from that angle. Good news is I didn’t poop.

4. Dinner Party Pooper 

So let me set the scene for you. My husband and I needed a civilized meal around civilized people. So we went to the Olive Garden(the best we could come up with). We were forced to take our little bundle of joy with us due to the lack of available sitters, plus this would give me a chance to show her off. Several people had commented on how well-behaved our little pasta eater was being, which just added to the nights relaxing, quiet dinner we were enjoying. We were about half way through our dinner when our little one decided to let herself go and by let herself go I mean her bowels. This wasn’t a little, quiet “oh no someone needs a diaper change.” This was a catastrophe. Not only was it loud enough to alert the whole room of patrons but immediately after the long, echoing resonance, a putrid wind blew through the dining room. My face turned the color of my marinara sauce. I grabbed the dirty culprit and ran to the bathroom for relief, observing the dirty looks we got all the way.

3. Baby Gone Wild

Not the goal I had in mind for her.

Not the goal I had in mind for her.

My tot is a little on the anti-social side. The flat fact is she doesn’t like hardly anybody. So I figured if I took her to play with kids more often she would drop the hatred of outsiders and get more comfortable. Being it was still winter, the only place suitable was the play area at the mall, a place where I could sit and enjoy a book while letting my tot run about on soft and only slightly contagious play equipment. I was feeling pretty good about myself, watching her toddle around with other kids, shyly closing in on them. I then started to hear laughter. Not child laughter, adult laughter. I looked up to see my darling one year old, standing in front of a group of manly men, flashing her little chip chips. I was paralyzed by the incident. I know she was just trying to show the men her new-found belly button but this was not the time nor place or the people to show. All I remember was trying to lighten the moment by yelling, “Riley Paige, this isn’t Girls Gone Wild!”. Again, I found myself scooping up my trouble maker and fleeing the scene of the crime. Before the question even comes up, no I did not teach her that.

2. Getting Handzy in the Produce Aisle.

Check out these Melons

Check out these Melons

I definitely learned my lesson with this one. My tot and I were shopping at our local Sam’s club a little too close to nap time. Only about half way through our shopping trip, she began fussing and was wanting me to hold her and what not, so I decided to cut the trip short and just go to the produce aisle to grab some fruits and veggies before heading out. Well there I am, trying to pick the best bag of oranges when I felt a hard tug on my neckline. I looked down and my darling had ahold of my shirt, thank god I had a tank top on underneath it or someone might have gotten a peak at my melons. I tell the handzy little one not to do it again and move on to more fruit picking. A moment later I feel another tug, this time she had success and grabbed both my shirt and tank top. I snatched my shirt out of the little hands and repositioned myself. I then looked up to evaluate my surroundings in hopes no body saw me baring my produce. I looked up to lock eyes with an older man not five feet in front of me with a look on his face resembling a teen age boys after watching the girls gym class run the mile. I knew he had seen it all and I knew he was hoping we were in the frozen food aisle instead. Again trying to make light, I smiled and tastelessly joked, ” You would have though she was a breast-fed baby, huh?” By that time the humility had reached my legs and I high tailed it to the check out. When I got home I realized the oranges were rotten.

1. Dora the Self- Explorer

Bath time no-nos.

Bath time no-nos.

This one isn’t as much as embarrassing as just plain awkward and uncomfortable. My tot loves to take bathes. I pile the tub with toys and take the opportunity to clean the bathroom while I am stuck there. I often give her a couple of my shampoo bottles or face brush to play with when she gets tired of her usual toys. Well, in the middle of scrubbing the floor I hear her turn on my face brush and start laughing. I assumed she had found it amusing that she had figured out how to turn on the unusual contraption. I giggle along and say, “Did you figure it out honey, it feels funny doesn’t it.” I was horrified when I looked up to see she had turned my facial hygiene technology into a sex toy. I was mortified. I grabbed the vibrating brush out of her hand and put it up on the shelf, not saying another word. But it doesn’t stop there. It keeps going on, with her rubber ducky, a wash cloth, her own hand. I know it’s not sexual and that it is a normal process for children but I can’t help it, being the prude I am, to just cringe in disgust. I am starting to get used to it and now every time she does I say something like, “Yes, that’s your girly parts.” or ask her, ” Are you cleaning your special place?”. All while deep down in side praying my daughter doesn’t grow up to be a porn star.      Well, now that you know my most embarrassing parenting moments and wonder what the hell I am teaching my child, I want to hear from you. What are some of your most awkward moments?


Drill, Baby, Drill!

scary dentist

No, this post is not about oil or even about that idiot Sarah Palin. Sorry for the disappointment

If you haven’t already guessed it by the image above, this post is about the trip that everyone dreads, the dentist. I have heard women would rather go have a complete stranger examine their who-ha then go get their teeth checked. Okay, maybe I’m alone on this one but I find the dentist rather delightful really.

When I was a child, my mother didn’t push dental hygiene as strongly as she should have. I would go days without brushing and I have never even flossed until about a year ago, nasty I know. But surprisingly, I have never had a cavity and every time I got checked out the results were always the same, other than needing braces, I was healthy. UNTIL! Until after I had my mini me. Yeah, this really ticked me off. First, I get stretch marks then I have a human crawl its way out of my vagina and then this man, in tight but strangely attractive scrubs, tells me I must have eight teeth that needs to be drilled. Once I hit my teens, I stopped being such a skank and took real good care of my teeth but evidently it wasn’t enough.  I wasn’t too scared, I mean hell, I went through childbirth like a freaking champ, I could definitely take this.

I figured I could suck it up and knock all eight out with one miserable trip. Oh no, they informed me that it would have to be in four different trips, so I reluctantly scheduled my first appointment. As I turned to walk away from the receptionist’s counter, the kind lady called out “Ewe, good luck hun.”.

Ewe, good luck? That’s all I thought about on the drive home. Good luck? Was it that big of a deal to get a fill? Did she have little faith in her co-workers abilities? Was that strangely attractive man in the tight scrubs even really a D.M.D? Thank god the drive home is very short or I might have had an anxiety attack.

So, the day of my atrocious appointment came. I started it out as a normal day but my tot decided to add to the hell with being downright difficult. She was fussy, uncooperative, and  doing everything in her power to be…just…bad! Parents, you have probably been there. So needless to say, after that type of morning, I was welcoming my dental rendezvous.

I entered the lobby and sunk into an oversized, leather chair and took a breath. Now normally people would be on edge at this moment.

They called my name and I headed back. Laying back in the chair, listening to Ellen on the TV, and watching the studly dentist dance above me as he chisels my mouth, I was the most relaxed I have been in a long time. He finished and I feel a huge disappointment, I had to go back home.

TIP #7. The dentist is the new spa.

Sadly, I’m just begging for more cavities just to get some dentist time.

Happy Birthday you ugly, old woman


I haven’t posted a while because I was in hiding but sadly, in bed under the covers wasn’t a good enough hiding place because that sneaky, clever birthday found me anyways. Yes, I am speaking to you a whole year older.

In my household, I try my hardest to not make a big deal out of that one time of the year. Why yes, I AM one of those women that turn into huge babies when they grow older. I spent the bulk of

my birthday morning bathing, plucking those pesky grey hairs and lathering on the miracle cream known as moisturizer. Now, if you know me you know that it takes me a whole ten minutes to get ready; throw on some clean clothes, brush the teeth and pull the hair up. So this unfamiliar beauty effort really confused my husband and put my daughter in a particularly wonderful mood. But once I felt I had accomplished erasing the last twelve months from my declining beauty, I just had to seek out the approval of my dear daughter and loving husband. My husband, being the wise man he is, commented on how slim I looked. My daughter, on the other hand, didn’t catch on as easily. Here I thought that my darling, sweet daughter would be able to console me, mainly because lately she’s been shaking her head no to answer everything under the sun.

question: Do you think mommy looks old and ugly?

disappointing answer: Yes, mommy ugly.

Yes, happy birthday to me. But I think the saddest part of all of this is that I only turned twenty-six.

TIP # 6. Unless you can handle the truth, don’t ask your two-year old their opinion. It might result in tears and an empty ice cream tub.

My husband was right, I did look slimming.

My husband was right, I did look slimming.

My birthday presents included:

  • a heart wrenching insult from my toddler
  • a raw hamburger
  • a litter of kittens being birthed on my couch
  • a new niece and
  • a really comfy sheet set

But I wouldn’t change anything because I got to spend it with the family, insults and all.

Helpless helping the helpless

For today, I had planned on publishing a witty and sarcastic post about going to the dentist. However, with today’s events, I decided against it and took a more sobering route.

flower riley 1

The horror at the Boston Marathon today really had me thinking about my daughter’s future and to be quite honest it scares the living hell out of me. What type of world are we up against now a days? To me it seems like every day the world gets more careless and cruel.

As parents, our main purpose is to keep our children safe and healthy until they are grown and able to care for themselves. We make sure they eat right, we make sure we have the safest car seats and cribs and we make sure they do good in school and so on. We try our damnedest to keep our children’s  best interests in mind. But with shootings, bombings, and increased illnesses, how are we supposed to succeed? We ourselves are helpless to certain situations, how are we supposed to help the helpless?

All I can say now is that my thoughts are with the victims and their families of the Boston Disaster.

Q&A: Whites, Sex, and TV

I love reading everyone’s Q&A posts, so I decided to join in on the fun. I mean after all I am here to hand out my expertise in household orderliness or what not. Since I’m not that popular just yet, I had a little help from friends on the inaugural questions. So here we go the first ever:Ask the Housewife

QHow do you keep your family’s whites so white?


 ASimple, don’t wear them. People wonder why my family wears so much black. Because, well, let’s do the math.


Keeping whites their designated color takes time, time I really don’t want to spend doing laundry. But if you just can’t seem to part ways with the color, then I advise you to invest in a lot more time and laundry products and follow these tips.

  1. Wash whites separately.dirty-kid-rex
  2. Add a booster such as bleach, borax, etc. Use oxygen bleach, chlorine bleach will turn whites yellow.
  3.  Pre treat stains. You can use designated stain removers, liquid detergent, dishwashing liquid or even shampoo to get out sweaty and greasy stains. Just take a tooth-brush and rub the solution into the stain.
  4. Soak the heavily stained stuff.
  5. Use color removers (bought in the laundry aisle at the store) when the whites start to look dull.
  6. They make laundry products specifically for water supplies with high iron. The high iron will leave not only your whites nasty but will turn your shower and toilet reddish.

QHow do you keep the flame going in your marriage since you are always busy?

AWell readers, this is a good question that I hear people ask all the time and I thought about this a lot myself. Everyone is different and prefers different things so I can’t give an exact answer on this one but I can give you low down in this dysfunctional household. Since we have cluelessly started a family, the inferno that once was our sex life fizzled down to one of those glow sticks you would find at a rave, the next morning. What helps? I have noticed the sexy little things about my husband. The thing that really gets my burner lit is when I walk into the kitchen and find him unloading the dishwasher, talk about HOT! And if he decides to take it one step farther and reloads it back up, it’s like Skinamax all up in here. So yeah, fornication still isn’t frequent in this duo, but that just makes it even more fantastic when it does. If that answer still isn’t good enough then maybe you should read this blog by Danielle from Keeping Up With The Holsbys.

QDo you agree TV is an imagination killer and a contributor to childhood obesity?

AOkay, I just had to choose this one because it was so specific and I wondered about this myself when I was first trying to figure out this thing called child rearing. I started off on the whole “TV Bad” bandwagon because yes I was afraid that I would be starting a horrible habit and later on in life I saw my little one sitting on the couch eating Twinkies and not being so little at all. It was a very frightening and blatantly disgusting. I, like most moms, want my little one healthy and happy. Then I learned what it was like to try to do ANYTHING when you have a child. I then learned to turn on the TV and drag some toys out. My kid is not just sitting in front of the couch-potato1TV all day; she is up running around while watching bits of TV or dancing to the TV while I’m cleaning house. So no, I do not think TV contributes to overweight children. I think lazy parents contribute to overweight children. Children are sponges, they learn by examples and if your children don’t see you up moving around then they will do the same. Get your kids up and out, keep them moving. As for the imagination part, I disagree again. I claim to add amazing  actress to my long list of titles, don’t burst my bubble, and I get my inspiration for roles from my imagination and my imagination is often fueled by what I see on TV.

For a short answer, no, I disagree with you my dear question asker.

Do you have a question that you are just itching to know the answer to?

Do you have an issue you and need advice?

Did google let you down again?  

Well ask this Housewife!

Enter your question below

Don’t lick the dog!

“Riley, don’t lick the dog!”

Sadly, that is a true quote and a real frequent incident in this household. If you have read any of my previous rambles you have probably heard me type about Hurley Jayne, my shepherd/lab mix that is more of a baby than a dog. She even wore diapers for a few months during her puppyhood, we even have pictures to prove it. And if you haven’t already figured it out, I am one of those sickening animal lovers. My animals are the sunshine to my mornings, the cream cheese icing on my cupcake, they are just as much my pride and joy as my biological offspring (sometimes even more, but don’t tell my tot that). They have their own personalities, attitudes, preferences, insecurities, flaws and niches. Each and every one of them is an individual. But back to the point.

Hurley, being the lovable, sweet girl that she is, loves to give kisses. Pretty much everyone she comes in contact with has to earn her slobbery seal of approval before fully being accepted into our home. The only thing she might actually like more than kisses is a little person. Perhaps it’s because they are more likely to play with her. Perhaps it’s because they are right at tongue level. And to be very specific, her favorite face to saturate is Riley’s. And Riley’s new way of showing her strong fondness for the pooch is a hug and a lick to the snout. I yell at her to not lick the dog and she tells me, telepathically of course, ” She kissed me first.”. I then respond, verbally, ” You don’t kiss with your tongue, Riley.” I then realize how awkward it is going to be when she grows up and I have to tell her about french kissing. Now that I think about it, I’ll probably just leave that lecture out. She comes back with, again telepathically, ” But Hurley kisses with her tongue.” I then just give in and decide to just start disinfecting the dog’s head.

Riley enjoying a rest on top of canine sister

Riley enjoying a rest on top of canine sister

When we first brought Riley home from the hospital, we were nervous. Not only because I had no idea in hell how to keep a baby alive but because of our older children, the furry ones. We were terrified Maxx, the border collie, would nip at her if she got to close. We were scared Hurley would be too rough and jump on the tiny  squeaky toy look-alike. But I was the most afraid of the diva of the house, my feline dictator companion, Kia. Once we got home everything was completely different from what we expected. Yes, Kia was angry but she didn’t try to kill me in my sleep like I expected. Now, Kia is one of the first to investigate a cry and is the best nurse when the tot gets sick, she won’t leave her side. Yes, Maxx would scream and run away when the threatening, stationary infant got within five feet of him but he has never shown any aggression towards her. You can even catch them cuddling up to one another every so often but of course only when they think no one is looking. And yes, Hurley was idiotically excited but surprising was very gentle and protective of her new squeaky toy. With all the success between the four and two-legged kids, the most successful and rewarding one has to be the one between the kisser and her tot.


puppy ear

The beginnings of a friendship

I think it was from day one, maybe two, that I think Hurley fell in love with Riley. Which kind of baffles me because what could Riley do for Hurley that made the adorable pooch love her so much? She couldn’t play, pet or feed the canine so why the impromptu, unwarranted devotion? I think it was the infants eyes, remember TIP#1. From then on out they were inseparable.  Before Riley could even sit up, Hurley would deliver toys to her and plant them in her lap as she sat in her bouncy seat.  Riley would then giggle and kick the toy out of her seat, Hurley would chase after it and return the toy to her new-found friend. This would go on for hours until one of them passed out. Then came the cuddling on the couch together. When the infant turned mobile, the game became, what I called, doggy roadkill. They’d chase each other around the house, Riley close on Hurley’s tail with her push buggy. From that to blowing bubbles, watching movies, playing dress up, and getting into trouble. Always together.

TIP #5. If you find your friends’ kids to not be up to par as a playmate;

 dogs, cats, guinea pigs and ducks make excellent replacements.

I do advise staying away from the smaller buddies, that almost always ends badly.

Baby N Hurley Play

They play like sisters and they fight like sisters just the same. When Dad gets home from work, he heads to the bedroom to change and there are his girls, fighting one another to be the first to get to him. I will be in the other room listening to them giggle as they play on the bed, all three of them. Occasionally giving out a fuss if one of them is getting more attention than the other. Hurley knows how to get under Riley’s skin and vice a versa. My favorite is to watch them fight over the godly blankie. Hurley might decide to use it as a pillow, Riley screams and tugs it from under her. Hurley might decide it looks like a good bed, Riley screams and tugs it from under her. Hurley might decide it looks like an excellent toy and take off with it, all hell breaks loose. Riley never really wanting it but will be damned if her canine sister does.Hurley baby pillow

It’s the same thing during meal and snack times. Hurley will never take her eyes off Riley in her highchair, always waiting for something to drop but is also always helping with cleanup. During snack time I often find them both sitting together, one apple slice for Riley, one apple slice for her accomplice.

I always knew Hurley was an exceptional companion and a good family dog but she has exceeded all of my expectations. Sure, having a child has made our family complete (yada yada yada) but Hurley has added even more excitement and gratification to the package. She’s my little Xanax in a world of stress and restlessness. My doggy savior, my Hurley Jayne.

There’s no greater story than that of a girl and her dog. 

Can you smell the CATastrophe in the mornings?

Hurley Jayn, the alarm clock

Hurley Jayn, the alarm clock

So I have found myself in a rut, like I imagine so many other mothers have found themselves. Every day it’s always the same thing.  Wake up to either dog kisses, kitty prances, or toddler screaming. No time to listen to the birds sing. I either let the affectionate pooch outside to G.O., feed the irritated feline, or grab the incarcerated toddler from her pen. No time to enjoy a cup of joe, got to fill the screaming, meowing, and whimpering mouths with breakfast. Then its off to the magical land of kitchen-choria where I frolic in dirty dishes and dog hair coated flooring.

Vacuum, laundry, NAP TIME!

Nap time, oh the words of relief.

Those glorious sixty minutes, those 3,600 seconds. I plop down on the couch and b.r.e.a.t.h.e.

Everyday the same thing. I feel like I’m stuck in the movie Groundhog Day, but without the pay. Where is Bill Murray when you need a laugh? That’s when you make yourself laugh at the small things. Hopefully I’ll be laughing after this morning.

TIP #3.  Counter top cleaner and Lysol result in a slippery surface and bruised bottom.

Well, the fuzzy and the not-so-fuzzy kids decided to mix it up a little this morning. In between breakfast and kitchen-choria, I ran into a river of pussy cat puke. I didn’t find it very interesting but the tater tot did. She pulled herself from her pancake sticks to investigate. Oh, when I say investigate, I mean investigate. I returned to the scene of the accident to find mommy’s little detective finger painting with feline bile. I freaked out. She tried to flee, but in the process she ran right through the mess, slipping and turning her finger painting master piece into a slip-n-slide. Not cute.

Sadly, this is not the end. After the frantic plunge and coating of vomit, I decided a mandatory bathing became first priority. So I dropped the paper towels and cleaners and ran the bath. One spanking clean tot later I returned to the mess to find the dogs also found the pile appealing. Needless to say, I didn’t think paw prints were cute either.



Finally, the mess was taken care of. I finished the job off with some disinfectant and a sigh of relief. As I was putting the cleaners back to their settling positions, I was distracted by the sound of little feet, a big thud, and a wail. *NOTE I DID NOT SEE A WARNING ON THE BACK OF THE LYSOL CAN* I then did the motherly thing and comforted my little one and her bruised little bottom, thinking it was all over. I then caught the familiar sound of gagging kitty. Yup, the kitchen still isn’t clean.

I guess a mother’s job truly is never done.

Doc says: “Rest and plenty of fluids.” Doc doesn’t have children.

Yes, I have missed a couple of days of posts. But before you assemble the angry mob and gather your pitch forks and torches, let me explain. My dear, loving, caring husband got me sick. And being the great, amazing, unselfish mother I am, I got the kid-let sick.

So while I have been drowning in baby snot and trying to extinguish the fire that is burning fiercely in my throat, I have  noticed that I am not alone. Everyone in a twenty-five mile radius of me ( I actually measured and remeasured) has the highly contagious, life altering illness, that around here we call, the CRUD.  So healthy folk beware, stay out of the heart of America because the state of Ohio is infected. Might as well stay out of West Virginia as well. That would be the state of West Virginia, not Western Virginia. And yes clan, there is a state called WEST Virginia . I know crazy huh. My expertise doesn’t just stop at great parenting, I can teach geography as well.

Anyways, I thought since there are so many diseased and feeble parents out there, or soon to be, I thought I might give out a few of my no fail tips on how to deal with illness when with demon child. Not all of us can make it to the doctor and even if we do, he might start talking about “antibiotic resistance”. In other words you are dying infected with a virus. Even for the blessed (adjective used lightly) that were honored with those horse pills, they take time to win the fight. I mean look how long the Iraq War took. Ouch, sorry, awful analogy I mean after all those pills are actually working for…. Take it as you will.

So what do we frail care givers do?

Option One

Telephone the babysitter. Oh wait, your babysitter is a sixteen year old girl whose parents don’t see fit to drag their daughter out of school to care for your adult ass? Well, fine. See if you send them a Christmas card this year.

Telephone the grandparents. If you don’t get an answer like I do so many times, then what? I like to call this the Moses Method. This method does take a little energy but will hopefully pay off. You strap your little one into their car seat, of course using the American Academy of Pediatrics recommended guidelines. You then load the car with little one’s favorite toys, snacks and necessities. Then you choose which grandparent you want to grace with your child’s presence today, I recommend the one most likely home. Once you reach your destination, or close to, you unstrap little ones car seat. You drop the car seat with said little one still attached to the lucky grandparents door step, you ring the doorbell and run. Oh don’t forget the very detailed note explaining the situation. This is a win-win situation. You get a day off and grandparents get to spend time with little one while learning to answer the phone next time.

proper example of the Moses Method

proper example of the Moses Method

What if we can’t call into the office of parenting and request a day off or the Moses Method has caused a few phone calls to a certain unnamed agency? We then resort to my favorite option.

Option Two

The Malfunctioned Housewife Method.

This method was constructed by your’s truly, hence the name, with the collaboration of Dr. Sophia from the Institute of Imaginary Medicine*. Again this method involves energy, probably more than option one, but like I said before it pays off. The first step in the MH method is to collect the needed materials.

Dr. Kia Sophia, CIM(cat of imaginary medicine)

Dr. Kia Sophia, CIM
(cat of imaginary medicine)

Needed Materials:

  1. baby/dog gate
  2. duct tape
  3. sippy cup and bowl
  4. child’s favorite toys
  5. patients medication of choice
  6. T.V. (optional)
  7. couch or bed

After gather the materials we first start by applying the baby/dog gates to any and all doorways that will confine little one to the room you choose to be your restful locations. Ex: living room or bedroom. Then, using the duct tape, you tape down all doors, drawers, loose furniture, your cup of hot tea and anything else detachable in the room. Be thorough in this step. Failure to do so can result in a mess or broken something at the end of the method.  The next step is to fill your restful location with easily obtainable snacks, sippy cups, and toys for little one. The next step is my favorite. This step you ingest your medication of choice; rather it be cough syrup, NyQuil, or just a pint of ice cream. Whatever you choose, I recommend not over doing it. You want a healthy amount to where you can wake yourself if your little one alarms you with serious crying but enough to where the flying Lego blocks are not bothersome. Before your relief sets in you must decide if you want to go with the T.V. optional  or not. If so turn on and select age appropriate channel. Dr. Sophia does not recommend local channels, informing me soaps or talk shows are very poor influences for small children. Once little one is settled in, you are encouraged to hurry to couch or bed to rest.

Simple as that.

TIP #2. Last time I checked liqueur was 

considered a fluid and an antiseptic. 

Feel free to add any comments on how the Malfunctioned Housewife Method worked for you or maybe you have your own advice when dealing with your children while you are broken down.

* Dr. Kia Sophia, CIM, is a self titled Doctor. She obtained her fictional degree from a fictional institute and does not hold herself responsible for any outcomes from the advice she has given. Think of her as the Dr. Phil of my blog.

Where is My Rent, Fetus?!

I’m pretty sure we all at one time or another had one of those dreadful neighbors. You know what I’m talking about. The ones who don’t care its three in the morning, they are going to make sure you know the benefits to the Bosley method by graciously allowing their TV volume to reach max level. Then once their television viewing experience comes to an end they start with the bumps in the night. Of course, bumps in the night grows to something resembling an elephant walking on the walls.

Or the gems of the neighborhood whose front lawns are so inviting with knee-high grass, stolen Big Wheelers, naked Barbies, and the Santa on the roof that looks like he’s had one too many by the tilt on his stance.

Got a good visual?

Well that’s what my pregnancy was like. Parties all hours of the night, punched holes in walls, and a grotesque appearance; and that was all inside my uterus.

It took only two days since we went heels to Jesus, till I figured out I was in deep. And by deep I mean the next 19 years of my life will be trying to keep another human being alive. I was pregnant. Like really pregnant. All those anxious baby loving freaks had jinxed us. I cried. I don’t know why. It wasn’t really a sad cry, closer to a happy cry. Hell, it was probably just the hormones. I used to cry when the pickle jar was empty, every new stretch mark and don’t get me started on those damn ASPCA commercials. Sarah McLachlan is on my hit list for that one.

I was miserable. Morning sickness turned into evening sickness turned into after dinner till you wake back up sickness. My ankles swelled, I damned my husband, and I damned him a lot. I would feel a strong kick to my bladder, which would make me pee a little, I would curse the creature residing in my who ha. I was always damning and cursing but always with a smile. I was genuinely happy. The erratic, bomb shell of a girl was actually transforming into a rational, level minded woman. An in control, got a grip, whale of a woman. I had never been a very stable person but you give me some added estrogen and I turn into freakin’ Gandhi with boobs. Maybe the Greeks were onto something with their hysteria theory, because even Dave and I’s relationship went from a wooden roller coaster to a luxury cruise ship.

Nine long tiring months went by and I was ready to perform my own c-section; I wasn’t allowed within five feet of a butter knife. I had enough. I was fat, tired, and was sick of being beat up from the inside out by my inconsiderate tenant  But when that nasty little body slid herself out from under the white privacy sheet, all the resentment and fabricated arguments between us were forgotten. They laid her on my chest and I got to look into those beautiful bright eyes and could already see she was going to be even more of a hell raiser gift than I thought.The perfect combination of my husband and I; she was better than I could imagine. I’m not going to lie and tell you it was love at first sight because it wasn’t. It wasn’t till later that night when I woke up, everything in the hospital was silent, and I looked over at the crib. There she was already laying on her side, just staring in my direction. That simple moment was when I finally understood what every mother warned me about. I had fallen so head over heels that I felt complete.

So this brings me to our first tip. Rileys1stpic redone

TIP # 1. Don’t ever look into your infants eyes, they are not as innocent as they seem. Keep your distance or you too might turn into an easy manipulated puddle of mush.

Yes I’m on to you babies.

How I became the Perfectly Malfunctioned Housewife


It all started with an ordinary car ride. Well, actually it started three years before that at a party but we are going to start with the “I do” part rather than the “awkward courtship” part. Those are always so awkward.

Anyways, back to the beginning. It all started with an ordinary car ride and a conversation about school   loans or something along that line. Then the words ” Why don’t we just get married?” ran out of my face hole before my brain had time to scream WTF!? I think I figured that Dave ( by the way my husband’s name is Dave) would make some sarcastic remark and we would move on. Oh was I wrong. The next day we were getting hitched at the courthouse and contemplating how to tell our parents. Because you see, Dave’s mother didn’t fancy lil ol’ me to well and Dave being the baby of the family, me taking him from his mama was a down right death sentence. So, newly married and living a secret life, we went on our happy-go-lucky way thinking we were those annoying teenagers in Twilight or the hotties from all those Nicholas Sparks movies.

First comes love, then comes marriage….now on to the baby. One whole year into our roller coaster ride of a truly defined dysfunctional marriage and still no babies. Which was quite hard to fathom because everyone thought the hasty lock into matrimony was the results of a night full of “bow-chica-bow-wow”. I mean who actually uses the excuse of real love to get married now a days.

By this time your probably wondering what does all of this have to do with being a shitty housewife. I’m getting to that.

Everyone was starting to get impatient with my empty womb, except for me. I had to keep reminding everyone that Dave and I were to finish college and live a little more before ruining our lives. Evidently my lady guts had other plans because BOOM, baby in a baby carriage it would be. All of this I blame on my good college friend, lets name her C, $2 pitcher night and the VW Jetta that had to be equipped with those damn heated seats.Well, I hope everyone here has had the little birds and the bees discussion by now, if so you probably already figured that night contained the “bow-chica-bow-wow”.

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