Note to Self 19

Note to Self 19

Don’t worry, even though your day is YET AGAIN shit.

How much laundry can one family go through? IT NEVER ENDS. I think I am going to die suffocated in a mountain of dirty laundry (and clean clothes that the husband throws in there that he tries on for five seconds and disregards. HELLO THOSE DON’T GO IN THE HAMPER THEY GO BACK IN YOUR FUCKING CLOSET).  It’s not your fault Middle Spawn has to change his shirt 42 times a day because he “don’t like this shirt no more”.

Don’t be alarmed that the cat shit that was stuck to the cat’s ass as he exited the litter box fell on the floor and YOU STILL haven’t cleaned it even though you have walked passed it on the way to the laundry room 15 times today. IT IS STILL THERE practically screaming at you “PICK ME UP, PICK ME UP PICK ME UP”. This could explain why your whole disgusting mess of a house smells like a fucking sewer. (NOTE:  take a fucking paper towel or baby wipe or SOMETHING down there with you next time you take YET ANOTHER FUCKING LOAD OF LAUNDRY DOWN).

No worries that you haven’t seen your dining room table in MONTHS with all the crap that is piled on top of it.  And even though there are no signs of it ever reappearing any time soon, you should just take a deep breath, calm down and try to tackle it a little bit every day (NOTE:  STOP PUTTING SHIT ON THE TABLE DURING THIS PROCESS AND MAYBE YOU’LL SEE WHAT COLOR WOOD IT IS BY THE END OF THE MONTH).

There is no fucking need to cry over the fact that BB will be home soon and the homework drama will be starting and you haven’t cooked dinner or even taken anything out to defrost. Nor should you cry over the fact that BB, although a psycho bratty bitch at home with a mouth and an attitude that could put even you to shame can’t even manage to play in her lacrosse game because some little bitch on the team had to trash talk to her and now she thinks she isn’t good enough (meanwhile, nice of you to start cursing and screaming at her on the lacrosse field in an attempt to get her ass back in the game so that all the parents had to look at you like you were a fucking loser. Maybe threatening to beat her with the lacrosse stick was not the way to go, but to be fair, TUESDAYS ARE KILLER and you just about were at the end of your rope. You DID apologize and that has to count for something).

It is fine that Baby Spawn can’t let you out of his sight and that you have to fold & put away all the fucking aforementioned laundry with him hanging off of your ass. Or that he is crying and writhing on your lap as you write this and keeps trying to grab the mouse, which is fucking you up big time. (NOTE: NOT A SMART IDEA TO GIVE HIM THE STAPLER INSTEAD TO PLAY WITH AS HE WILL HURT HIMSELF).

By all means, do not cry when you step on that stupid squeaky giraffe thing someone got Baby Spawn when he was born while you are trying to convert an organic yam into something your children would eat. Instead of crying about your crappy housekeeping  and mothering skills you should be commended for feeding your children something that isn’t part of the dollar menu.  If you always strive to see the good in this mess, you will be much MUCH happier in life.   This is easier said than done, as you’ve been working your ass off all day and are utterly exhausted, yet miraculously the house looks dirtier than when the day started bright and early at 6AM when Middle Spawn crawled into bed, snuggled up next to you, and pissed himself.  But cheer up!! Take a page from Monty Python and always look on the bright side of life.

It’s also nice that after 7 years of higher education and an advanced degree, you can’t even find a fucking job as a cashier at the Evil Empire*. How sad to be qualified for nothing after all of that work, and to be tied down by your stupid husband’s dumb new hours (He works from 10:30-7??? How stupid is that? It pretty much guarantees that you are unable to work at all since what shift starts before 10 or after 7:30? Unless you are willing to work at an escort service on Craigslist, and end up on Dead Hooker Island in a clam bag), which, among other things, have caused your stress to skyrocket, your eating habits to go down the tube, and your hemorrhoids to flair up (probably as a result of the stress/crappy eating habits). You now LITERALLY have a pain in the ass.

Don’t worry, give the government a few years to turn this mess (they say “recession”, I say “depression” or “fucking shit show disaster mess”) around, the kids will be in school, and you can hopefully enter the work force again and be surrounded by adults (who will probably act like little children and annoy the fuck out of you, if any of the office jobs you’ve held prior to this moment are any indication).

And one more thing! How did Baby Spawn get those pretzels out of the pantry and spill the bag all over the floor and then crawl all over and through the salty mess spreading it all over the house? This is incredible.  Thank god he just passed out on the floor of the  hallway, now maybe you might actually be able to get something done! Just remember:  TRY NOT TO STEP ON HIM**.

If this manages to even get published, it will be a freaking miracle. Especially since the damn Google Gods have fucking deleted your blog thanks to some sort of fucking bug or who knows what. 

JUST BREATHE. IT’LL ALL BE OK.  Its 5:00 somewhere, and there’s a bottle of wine in your fridge.

*Target

**Scratch that, one of the older ones just tripped over him.