I never told you about the time my ex-husband came home from work to say, “Hmmmm, something smells gooood, what are we having tonight?”
Watching him looking at the blue granite roasting pot on top of the stove with the most wistful expression on his face was one of the better highlights in my failed marriage of twelve years.

“What time we gonna eat?”

“In about an hour.”

“Damn, that smells so good, can’t I just taste it?”

“Sure! But it’s hot as hell.”

“I love your cooking, honey; I can’t wait!”, as he rustles through his underwear drawer.

“Where’s my shorts? All my shorts are gone!”

“Hey, I’ve cooled this off enough for you to have a taste.”

I know women don’t boil their whites in a pot full of Clorox anymore, but do it just one time and you’ll remember it forever.

If one more person asks about my resolutions I’m going to bark at the moon!

There is no way in this entire reality I would be dumb enough to set myself up for failure, there are days I can’t even struggle through the laundry let alone incorporate some work out schedule, or think for one second I could quit smoking with ease. Why on earth would I promise myself and the world I could, only to feel like a miserable failure?

I make resolutions every darn day, not to be online too long, make sure I get in extra book or quiet time with the kids, cut down the TV, no cookies before lunch, you get the drift. I promise myself I’ll craft more, and worry less, only to worry about getting the time to craft.

I’m way too over the top type A for this nonsense. Seriously.

All I do know is that we’re gonna really work hard to sock away money this year. One year we did, we lived in Arizona, had about 10 months to move cross country and put down a hefty down on a house, and somehow in that time we paid not only for our own wedding, had a Christmas a flood, a move before the move and still socked away a little over 15 grand. I know we can do it again.

We do want out of here, we do want to move as soon as the housing market let’s us sell and not lose every dime we put in, our area is hit really hard right now, and the city itself is peddling backwards and losing people who even want to live here.

In the meantime we save, save, save. Sock it away in our Schwab  account, and pretend it doesn’t exist, maybe that will at least cover the taxes we’ll owe in Feb. I ache for the days of money back, even with 2 kids we’re paying in thousands a year. Being a grown up can really be very un fun!

There’s alot I want to do in the next few years, with my teenage daughter back in the mix, there will be some help towards driving expenses, and a trip or two in the future. This house still needs alot of work done. I’d like to have a family vacation in the next few years, nothing wild or over the top, just a nice resort or something. But we’ll see.

My wish for the New Year, is that we catch up and can breathe some, instead of running in our rat wheel, staying ion one place. Being middle class is hard, it kinda sticks you there unless you break out of the box, and leap in income. Sure, you have what you need, and sure sometimes you even get what you want, but the trade off is a constant feeling of one thing could ruin it all, one missed life insurance payment, or health insurance payment, one financial nightmare away from nothing.

This year, I just want to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

As many of you know, I am a stay-at-home mom. I also care for two little girls while their mom works. Therefore, I am with four children all day, two of which 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I usually do well with patience. Sometimes, however, I feel like I should be Baker Acted into the nearest mental health facility, with a quickness. When I am frustrated and need a break, I get told that it is my job to do the things I do. I have a good idea that it is normal to need a break away from your kids…right? Okay, so maybe I spread myself a bit thin sometimes. I am about to thin out a bit more…

My Mamaw died almost 3 years ago from cancer. My Papaw died almost 2 years ago from a massive heart attack in his sleep. My little cousin was left with them when he was a baby by his mother (she is my Mamaw’s daughter). After my Papaw died, he got sent to live with his mother, who never had much to do with him his whole life. She committed suicide two months later and left a note blaming my little cousin for what she did. She said he would be better off without her (which is probably the truth). BUT, that left an enormous amount of guilt for this boy to have to deal with…he is only 16. He has no one to turn to. This boy and I had not had a lot of contact in the past. He was my little brother’s best friend (I am 7 years older than my brother and 9 years older than my cousin), but other than that we only had contact when someone in the family died. Just the other day, he started emailing me. Then, last night he called me. I must say, it was weird…and not a little bit, just plain awkward. I want him to know he can come to me if he needs to, but I have no idea where to start this relationship off. He is obviously reaching out to me. Being a mom and listening to the things he says, only makes me want to go to him and hold him tight. I am struggling with the instinct I have and what the situation really is. I am not sure how to help him other than to let him know I am here. I can only hope that is what he needs.

My husband tells me that everyone calls me Big Mama for a reason. I can guess he is referring to the movie Soul Food. In that case, I take it as an endearing term. But even Big Mama needs some help from time to time. So, advice would be appreciated, a good, stout shot of whiskey much obliged, and a call to Dr. Phil might be in order. Here I thought I was in need of a break. This only goes to show that a good mama’s work is never done.

I swore when I left the hell-hole I would never look for employment in the finance field again, but upon seeking gainful employment for the past two weeks, it’s become increasingly apparent to me that in the grand scheme of things that this is what I do best.

This is a very depressed area, with most folks around this section of the city collecting welfare, food stamps, and Social Security disability benefits, so in my field of expertise, there are many, many businesses that cater to this particular group of people.

When I call these businesses to inquire as to whether or not they’re hiring, that for the most part they say they’re taking applications, but once I arrived in all sixteen places, they took one of the 16 resumes and I’m told, “We aren’t hiring right now, but I’ll fax your resume to the home office.” I never get to the application unless I ask for one. It’s difficult too, for me not to notice that most of these females are in their 20’s and 30’s, dressed like they’re going either to a barn dance or a rave, and hold managerial positions.
Please, someone help me out here. What in the hell is wrong with this picture?

I did have a call-back from an online application from a huge call-center from an East Indian type fellow who said they’d love to set up an interview for Friday. He asked me if I were using Microsoft Word and Microsoft Excel if I knew how to switch programs. Woah! Be still my heart!
Not to be daunted by a little condescension, I said I would be happy to be there at 9 AM; and would of course arrive fifteen minutes early, as requested.
Little more than two hours later, another East Indian fellow called to confirm I would indeed be there at the appointed time and place, and could I also confirm that none of the information I had given had changed since my last conversation with the other representative of their company.
I wanted to tell him I’d moved three times since then, changed my phone number more often than my underwear, and given birth six times.

Yesterday I stopped in the grocery to buy a six pack of soda. I had no Bi-Lo discount card with me, so the cashier offered to get an application for me. In the meantime, she did offer another card to use until mine arrives in the mail. Cute little thing I can put on my keyring.

Bi-Lo for Seniors.

As an extra bonus, I have a birthday coming up in just 11 more days.

Perhaps I should pick out my shroud now.

I finally bit the bullet and advised the powers that be to shove their job up their proverbial chocolate whizways last Monday. In good conscience I could not make the effort to earn the scum-sucking bottom feeders another dime toward their blood-sucking enterprise that preys on the misfortune of others. I’m free as a bird, albeit a poor one, but the release was so great and satisfying that I’ll just do a Scarlett O’Hara and do a fiddle dee dee, I’ll worry about that tomorrow number.
It wasn’t a hard choice to make, really. I was being pushed out of a job I intended to retire from when the time came by the Little Big Boss who’s stuck up the Big Boss’ derrière so far he hasn’t been able to blow his nose in months.
Being a mature woman means so little to those in corporate America. Having common sense means nothing as well. I’m not a dumbass, and will not be pushed around by a snotty little snake thirty years my junior whose sole purpose in life is to climb a corporate ladder and beat his feminine little chest while he goes on and on about the new Disney On Ice.

I expect to be beating the streets for gainful employment this week, but in the meantime, I must color my grey hair, lift my wrinkles, buy a new bra and bring my stilettos and fishnets out of retirement.

This time around I’m going for the big time.

A sister post to Mudder’s Notta Housewife? Below.

Funny Mudder should post Notta housewife? As if someone can question her housewifery just because she has another full time job on top of her full time house wife work.I always had a sneaking suspicion that men helped more when dating a woman, simply to "catch her".Using a shining wedding or engagement ring to "land her", and then…PooF!! The amazing man who cooked and cleaned, lit candles to make the house smell nice, and helped pick out paint colors that matched the dish towels you loved from an antique shop on a weekend getaway suddenly disappears, leaving a wonderful replica who adores the way you cook, clean and fusses when you’re too busy to turn down the sheets or set out fresh hand made soaps that smell like ginger and spice.(And somehow magically notices when you change fabric softner!)

Okay that may be a bit much, but here’s a study I found that was recently released that proves at least some of my thinking correctly, and proves that Poor Mudder is absolutely a housewife, no matter what else she does to also help bring in the bacon.And with that much more on one’s plate, as in the case of a work at home Mom or Dad, it likely feels like she has to wrastle the darn pig, hold it down, kill it, and strip the meat her darn self as well, only to have to package it and make a meal after the bloodletting is over.

Shew! A housewife and then some. Here’s to you Mudder!!

http://www.usatoday.com/news/health/2007-08-28-housework_N.htm

Here’s an excerpt from the article:

"Women who complain their spouses don’t do enough around the house now have some real proof.

Married men worldwide report doing less housework than unmarried cohabiting men, according to an international study of 17,636 men and women in 28 countries. Findings are published in the September issue of the Journal of Family Issues.

In the study by researchers at George Mason University in Fairfax, Va., and North Carolina State University in Raleigh, cohabiting men report doing more housework than married men, and cohabiting women report doing less housework than married women, although cohabiting men still do less than cohabiting women."

Tags: housework, cleaning, men and women, relationships

I don’t gab alot, I just have alot to talk about! This was said by our daughter who gabbed a whole 9 hour day while her Uncle and I were painting her bedroom and ready to stick her to a wall with velcro to get her out of the way.

Blechy Please! This was said by our 2 year old son when we asked him if he wanted some ice cream cake.

My kids crack my up on a daily basis, and it helps make up for the feeling that I mostly am either A.) Talking to a brick wall when I’m talking to them, or B.) Simply banging my own head on a brick wall while I’m dealing with them.

Being a stay at home Mom, doesn’t afford me things that other Moms have, like professionally styled hair, or nails, business suits or nice trendy clothing, and honestly in those ways I’ve always been low maintainence, I’m not a long nailed coiffed hair kinda gal, but it bothers my daughter sometimes, and she feels free to tell me I’m not very pretty, or as pretty as so and so’s Mom.After breast feeding my second child, she likes to remind me my boobs are falling, and enjoys pointing out grey hairs.

I’m hoping my son is more forgiving. Ha!

Tags: beauty, kids, stay at home parenting

We now have son #2 back home after nearly two years away from us. He’s been through a few very nasty ordeals including his apartment being broken into and his valuables stolen, to being physically abused by a psychotic girlfriend. He’s adjusting very well, but still has issues he’s sorting through.
Now he has to find another job, and make new friends. He’s left so many good friends behind with this move, but I really believe he’ll be much happier now that he’s finally got away from the fruitbat that was causing him such mental anguish. He says he feels like a failure…. having to come "home" and stay with his parents. I had to remind him he needs this healing time to get his head on straight again.

I don’t know if he’s told his sister how grateful he is to her for the "push" he needed to make the decision not to go back to that god-awful relationship, but I’m sure he will.

 I thank her from the bottom of my heart.