Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Confessions of a 30-Year-Old Housewife

I wrote this last week on my birthday, but my internet has been so awful for a week that I couldn't even upload it!

Okay, bear with me. I only have 21 minutes to write this post while I’m still technically 30 years old, so grammatical errors will occur. 

In true procrastinator fashion, with 20 minutes left of my career as a 30-year-old, I give you:

Confessions of a 30-Year-Old-Housewife

My kids are rocking the ‘summer schedule’ thing pretty hard. Aside from having to roll over to open Judah’s cereal bar, those kids know not to wake me up and to get their own breakfast if they can’t wait.

I don’t get personalized license plates. I don’t understand why you want people to know that you’re called ‘Nana’ and isn’t everyone a Husker fan? It’s beyond me.

18 minutes

Mountain Dew. Seriously, guys. It’s like the actual nectar of the gods. I know people like beer (although I can’t figure out why) and fancy people like wine (Bouquet? Palate? I watched Sideways so all I know is that it might be lame to like merlot) but give me the Dew. For real, go get me a Dew.

I have a shameless appreciation for the freckles on my face and arms. I love when I get a little sun in the spring and those freckles start to reappear. Who doesn’t look better with freckles? Now if only the sun didn’t make my mustache-like discoloration worse…

14 minutes

I have realized I like every single kind of music except heavy metal. I’m partial to sad songs and anything sung by Barbra Streisand, Harry Connick, Jr., Mumford & Sons and maaaaaybeee Garth Brooks, depending on the day.

Sometimes I will wash the same load of laundry three times because I keep forgetting it’s in the washer. One of the hazards of a basement laundry room?

I love my children, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what the crap to do with all their papers from school. I know each one is special to them, but seriously child. That’s a stick figure of a cat. Let it go already.

Nine minutes.

I want to write a book. I don’t think I would put this in here if I had more time to think about it, but that clock is ticking and I’m gonna be 31 soon. Mr. Bug has even come up with an outline for me if I ever get my poop together and sit down and do it. So I really have no excuse.

Jillian Michaels is on my list of ‘People Who Might Be The AntiChrist.’ 

I hate Anne Hathaway. Not many people do, but I seriously do not like watching her ‘act’ in anything. Every time the girls want to watch The Princess Diaries I die inside a little bit more.

I have never tried hummus. There was a chain email when I was in high school that compared hummus to poop and I’ve never been able to get past that.

Five minutes.

Most of the time I feel like I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Seriously. Almost all of the time. And almost no idea.

If I ever meet Nick Nolte, I think I’ll give him a hug. I know he’s probably not a good guy and I actually hate hugs, but he really should have won an Oscar for Warrior. That was not cool, Academy.

Two minutes. 

I have zero anxiety about getting older. Turning 30 didn’t faze me at all and I’m feeling good about 31. Young at heart? I don’t know. 

Aaaaaaaannnnnnd NOW I’m 31! Hopefully next year I won’t wait this long to write my Confessions. 

Thanks for reading!

Read Confessions of a 28-Year-Old Housewife here
Read Confessions of a 29-Year-Old Housewife here

Friday, May 30, 2014

Judah Sleeps: Bower Power May Picture Party

If you have followed me on Instagram for any length of time, you know that I have a strange addiction to taking pictures of Judah Bear sleeping. I even started using the hashtag #judahsleeps on them, although this odd habit started long before I started hashtagging. 

The challenge for month two of Bower Power’s Picture Party is ‘Sleep.’ (See my month one photo here) The idea was to get a photo of someone sleeping. Obviously this is not hard for me since my son falls asleep pretty much everywhere, but I had to put forth a little more effort in order to capture him with anything but my phone. Here’s what I got. 

The Boy comes into our room almost every night at some point, and on this morning I somehow woke up before the little guy. 

I also went through my Instagram photos and picked some of my favorite #judahsleeps pictures for your viewing pleasure. You’re welcome. : )

Monday, May 26, 2014


Do you ever feel like all you’re doing is failing? Like you’re pedaling so hard but still rolling steadily backward?

I see other moms out who have all their kids in clean clothes with hair done and smiling. And the mom herself is in good shape with cute clothes, great hair and a smile on her face. And she sits down and feels her kids something stupid like veggies and hummus with fruit from her garden for dessert.

Then I look at my little crew with their dirty nails, scraggly/frizzy hair and mismatched clothing (“But Mommy! I want to pick out my clothes!”). And me with my belly hanging over my almost-too-small jeans, hair in my standard messy ponytail, and bags under my eyes. Telling my kids that if they don’t finish their lunch (corn dogs) they won’t get dessert (ice cream). And I think: where did I go wrong?

I know that mom has other battles. I get that. But still.

I wake up and feel guilty for what I give my kids for breakfast. I feel guilty that I let them watch a show in the morning. That I just want them to be quiet for a bit and let me wake up. That I don’t want to play a made-up game that doesn’t have any actual rules and never ends.

The problem I see is that there are just so many ways to fail. I fail at eating healthy foods and feeding them to my kids. I fail at losing weight. I fail at budgeting. I fail at yard work. I fail at keeping our vehicles clean and in good order. Being understanding with my husband. Being understanding with my kids. Being a good friend. Not praying enough. Not reading my Bible ever enough. Not figuring out how to use my new camera. Not keeping my house clean enough. I fail at keeping up with laundry. Keeping up with dishes. Calling family. Reading to my kids. Making sure my soon-to-be-kindergartener knows her freaking alphabet. Looking like a decent human being when I leave the house.

These are all just off the top of my head! I could keep going. I know a lot of this is expectations I set for myself—thank you, Mom’s Night Out—but I still see falling short of those as a failure.

The point that I guess I’m trying to make is that I’m struggling. I have no words of advice. This is a battle I’m fighting. I just wanted to put my digital pen to paper and let it be known that there is someone here who is in the thick of this. If you end up reading this and any of what I said sounds familiar, you’re not alone. Let’s fail together. I’ll bring brownies.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Payback for Parents

To my dear and wonderful children,

I love you very much. But I feel you should know that as you grow and become the amazing people you will be, I am planning ways to get back at you. In love. This will all be done in love.

*I will pick my nose in public and then ask you to take the booger. If you don’t, I will wipe it on your back and you won’t find it until you get undressed that night. So you should probably just take the booger when I offer it.

 *I will come into your bedroom every single Saturday morning and jump on your bed at 6:00 am. I will then alternate between screaming and whining until you either cry or make me breakfast. Either one is fine.

*I will not eat anything you make. Ever. As a favor though, I will rotate the use of the words ‘nasty,’ ‘gross,’ ‘disgusting,’ and ‘looks like poop’ so you never know what’s coming. 

*When you have friends over I will come and tell you every time someone looks at me weird, makes a mean face, knocks over my stuff, breathes on me, or talks to me. Or if they don’t do any of those things I’ll let you know they’re ignoring me. 

*I will always ask you questions when you’re on the toilet. I will walk in and comment on your thighs and cellulite and ask why your bottom looks so different than mine.

*I will spill wine (because I’m a freaking grown-up and I can drink all the wine I want) all over your clothes right before you leave the house. But you won’t be able to change because then I’ll start crying and you’ll have to comfort me

*I will unfold all the laundry you fold. All of it. The rest of your life. I'm serious, kid. It's gonna be epic. 

*I will wet my pants in public and then just stand there in the middle of the Target One Spot and yell that I did so. Bonus points if I can eke out a turd.

*I will make very inappropriate statements to strangers at every opportunity. That nose ring looks like a booger, you have owies all over your face, your breath smells like poop. That kind of thing.

I’m sure I’ll think of more, but for now I’ll just file these away for future use. Payback’s a—very unpleasant thing, kids.

With love,