Sometimes KIDS Know Best

I realize that I’ve pretty much done nothing but moan and groan over the past two weeks with the hubby being out of town for so frickin’ long.  Can I help it, though, if my fairy godmother decided to go off on a bender and that the shadow of doom chose to make my household its bitch?  No, unfortunately, I cannot.  Surprisingly, however, there HAVE been two small incidents that brought about a much-needed smile across my tired, weary face.  When you’re at the end of your very frayed rope, little things mean a lot.

A couple of nights ago during bath time when I was on the verge of running off to join the circus, my son must have somehow sensed my desperation.  The dog had just chewed up my favorite slippers, the dirty laundry looked like Mount Kilimanjaro, and I had refereed more than my fair share of fights for the day.  So when I saw that my daughter had then turned the tub into a damn wave pool, I had no other choice but to begin my transformation into Mean Mommy.  My lid was just about to flip when I felt a little pair of arms envelop me from behind like a warm blanket.  I glanced over my shoulder to see my amazingly perceptive little guy smiling sweetly at me as if to say that everything was gonna be alright.  Just that teensy tiny little hug was all I needed to get me through the rest of that long day.

And maybe it’s a twin thing because my daughter, too, must have had a feeling that Mama was at her breaking point.  It was after yet another nerve-racking afternoon that she holed herself up with some paper and crayons and forbade me from entering the room.  She claimed that she was working on a surprise for me that was “super duper top secret.”  I grumbled about the wreck of a mess that had taken over the kitchen and struggled to keep my heavy eyelids open.  All I wanted to do was to crawl into bed and forget about all the madness of my frickin’ world.  And that’s exactly the point that my angelic little girl presented me with this:

I “fink” it was just what I needed to snap me out of my funk.

Kids really are amazing, aren’t they?!

The Sleepwalking Pisser

You know those days when you think, “Wow, things couldn’t possibly get worse” and then suddenly they do? Well, that pretty much summed up Monday for us here on the Nucking Futs homefront. Yes, it was just a series of one sucky thing right after another, starting with a lice scare at school (I itch just thinking about it), capped off by a big ol’ pile of piss (literally).

It’s never fun to discover that your child has peed the bed when all you wanna do is crawl into your own bed and pass the hell out. And it never seems to fail that this little event ALWAYS takes place right after you just put fresh sheets on said child’s bed. So, you can probably imagine how thrilled we were to find out that we had to once again put clean sheets on our daughter’s bed at freaking 11:30 at night. Nothin’ like a little midnight laundering to really get your mojo goin’.

So after tucking our newly-pj’d daughter back into her freshly-made sleep nest, my husband popped into the boy’s room to drag his little booty to the john for one last tinkle. He’d no sooner stepped two feet through the door when I heard, “What the hell is this??!!” I tried REALLY hard to play it off like I didn’t hear him, but he was apparently under the impression that we were in this whole parenting thing together since he repeatedly called my name over and over again till I made my way back down the hall. I begged God to please, please, please not let me find a room full of gut soup.

Turns out that the kid had sleepwalked his way into what he thought was the bathroom, when in actuality, it was really just his dresser. There was a trail of piss all over the floor, right into which my hubby had managed to step, and a sprinkling of tinkling all over the drawer that, ironically, holds his undies. So, once again we rolled up our sleeves and set out to clean up yet another late night mess.

I was seriously beginning to believe that I do, in fact, live in a damn fraternity house. I mean, really, between my ripped-to-shreds couch and now the pissing on the floor, it’s getting to the point where I should just pick out our Greek letter symbols and start hazing the pledges. Luckily, last night, though, my son reassured me that this is nowhere near as bad as “Animal House.” The kid actually had the naivete’ to bust his own self for sneaking a cookie out of the pantry at 4 a.m. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m not thinkin’ too many frat dudes would ever admit to stealing from the friggin’ cookie jar….

Things I’ve Learned This Week

** I can light a grill without burning off my eyebrows.

** Chocolate carmel pecan Easter eggs are not safe in this house, even if they’re the size of Texas.

** The dog likes to drink beer.

** Fruit Roll-Ups are to teeth what water is to the Wicked Witch of the West.

** OPI’s “Privacy Please” is a super cool, very natural-looking nail polish color.

** I need a vacation.

** My children should win a medal for their nighttime tip-toeing abilities.

** We should never watch porn before 10 p.m.

** I can sleep with my eyes open.

** The theme for Thursdays is apparently “Drive Like A Jackass Day.”

** I could be lying on the family room floor bleeding to death & no one in my family would notice.

** Little shit-covered Hello Kitty underwear still smell like ass even after they’ve been shoved in a dirty clothes hamper for 2 days. (If only my daughter had learned this as well….)

** I need a vacation.

** “Dancing With the Stars” reminds me of “The Lawrence Welk Show” with sluttier outfits.

** Why just get a Grande when I can get a Venti?

** A polygon is a dead parrot.  (Props to my son, the comedian, for that one.)

** The devil horns pop out of my children’s heads at approximately 7:02 every night.

** Allergies are trying to make the Nucking Futs family swim with the fishes.

** I really need to reiterate the “dump & flush” rule in this house.

** Joe Biden likes to drop the F-bomb whenever possible.

** Did I mention that I need a vacation?

** My family’s trying like hell to get us on an episode of “Hoarders.”

** I am asked 788,946 questions every day.

** Despite what I might think, God does not give me more than I can handle.

Reality Bites

     

     Ever feel like you’ve been chewed up and spit out by a garbage disposal?  Or sucker-punched by that crazy son of a bitch Mike Tyson?  Or knocked around all over the place like a damn hockey puck?  If so, then you can commiserate with me and my post-vacation jolt into reality.  If not, then you suck, and I might claw your eyes out to steal your secret to inner peace and happiness.

     We’ve all heard that term, “I need a vacation from my vacation.”  And this saying could not ring more true for parents of small children who return home from a kid-free vacation.  It’s like the short people feel the need to make up for lost time and put on their very WORST behavior all for your benefit. You come back all relaxed and smiley and dreaming about guacamole, and then < WHAM! > all hell breaks loose right before you.  They’re fighting, they’re whining, they’re total pains in the asses.  Their new favorite hobby seems to be driving you up a freaking tree.  

     And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the half-pints appear to have conspired with the dog, cause he, too, has decided to poop all over your parade.  He’s biting every inch of your ass, he’s eating everything from crayons to report cards, and he’s on his way to being auctioned off to the first person to make an offer.  You truly wonder if Satan himself possessed the water supply while you’re gone, because it seems as if your entire family has been demonized.

     Then there’s the toppling towers of mail and laundry that have accumulated in your absence.  It’s as if every piece of junk mail in the entire universe somehow made its way into your mailbox within the span of just a few days.  And you can’t help but speculate if the neighbors decided to dump all their dirty clothes into YOUR hampers while you were away.  Getting either of these piles to disappear seems even more impossible than getting Paris Hilton to wear underwear.

     Unfortunately, as much as you try to fight it, the overwhelming feeling of reality absolutely takes over that relaxed vacation feeling you had just days ago.  And before you know it, your happy-go-lucky vibe is replaced with your usual get-me-the-eff-outta-here vibe.  Life and all its frustrations makes your get-away feel like light years ago.  Maybe that’s why we appreciate those rare opportunities so much.  I’m already jonesin’ for the next one.

Chores That Can Bite Me

     I know there are some cuckoo freaks of nature out there who actually get off on doing housework, but I am most certainly not one of them.  In fact, there are several household chores that just make me wanna jam a hot poker stick in my eye.  I’m sure I could create a pretty lengthy list if I had the energy, but I don’t, so here are the ones I detest the most:  unloading the dishwasher, folding the laundry, and emptying the trash.

     In our house, the dishwasher fills up pretty quickly.  And it doesn’t help that my kids somehow end up using 50 different cups throughout the course of a day either.  It’s like they completely overlook the fact that they already have 5 cups sitting on the counter RIGHT NEXT TO THE FREAKING FRIDGE when they get out yet another stinkin’ cup for water.  So, in turn, we end up having to run the dishwasher pretty much every single day, and unfortunately, all those clean dishes haven’t learned to put themselves away quite yet.   And this is where my hatred comes in.  For most people, this might not be such a big deal, but for me, I’ve got to try to block the dog from getting in the dishwasher and licking every damn fork, knife and spoon that he can get his tongue on.  What’s the point of cleaning the dishes at all if this little shit-eater’s just gonna end up french-kissing all of them in the long run?  

     And then we have the laundry, that never-ending pile of poison that multiplies by the second.  I often wonder if my kids are bringing home their friends’ clothes for me to wash, because I honestly don’t know where it all comes from.  The separating, the stain treating, the folding — it all just sucks ass.  I end up having to split up the whole process into more do-able stages, just to keep from purposely suffocating myself with dryer sheets.  The final stage of the process, the putting away phase, always ends up to be a lesson in procrastination.  The longer it sits there staring at me to put it away, the more I feel like it’s telling me to kiss its Downy fresh ass.  And by the time I finally do get around to putting it all in its rightful place, there’s a whole new mountain of dirties to tackle once again.  It. Never. Freaking. Ends.  

     Finally, the third chore that absolutely makes my nose hairs stand on end is the trash.  This is mostly because we are one trashy family.  It’s like we’re constantly running out of shit at the EXACT SAME TIME.  How does that even happen?  Do the orange juice, milk, Cocoa Puffs, AND waffles all have a little pow-wow and decide to meet up in the trash at 8 a.m. or something?  And once they do all congregate in that can, there’s not a whole lot of room for anything else to fit in there.  It’s like trying to fit a family of eight into a Smart Car.  I’m thinking a trash compactor would totally make my life a lot easier. But since I don’t actually have a compactor, I have to do a whole lot of smashing.  You see, I’ll do anything to avoid having to take it out to the alley because that is a task I’ve delegated to the Mr.

     Unfortunately, as much as I loathe these three things, I’ve come to realize that I have no choice but to suck it up and do ’em anyway.  I know for a fact that neither my husband nor my kids would ever even bat an eye if none of these things were ever done again.  They’d eat with their fingers if all the silverware was dirty, they’d turn their underwear inside out if their clothes weren’t clean, and they’d turn the kitchen floor into an oversized dumping ground if the trash was never emptied.  They’d end up on some bizarre E! reality show and be known as the Nucking Futs Pigs.  What a legacy for me to leave behind, huh?

     ** SO WHAT HOUSEHOLD CHORES MAKE YOU WANT TO DRINK A GALLON OF BLEACH JUST TO GET OUT OF THEM??? **

The Twelve Nucking Futty Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
a migraine with a backache.

On the second day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the third day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the fourth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the fifth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the sixth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the seventh day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS 
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the eighth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the ninth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the tenth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
10 skid-marked undies
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
11 wrestling matches
10 skid-marked undies
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my two kids gave to me:
12 mismatched mittens
11 wrestling matches
10 skid-marked undies
9 broken crayons
8 stopped-up toilets
7 finger paintings
6 loads of laundry
5 MILLION QUESTIONS
4 rolled-up boogers
3 spilled milks
2 temper tantrums
and a migraine with a backache!!!

Front Load This

XX Home Maytag A.jpg     No pun directly intended here, but I have to get back up on my soapbox again and complain about the utter disdain I feel for my washing machine.  It is a Maytag Neptune front loader and is without question on the road to becoming my ultimate nemesis, right behind all the poop which our new puppy seems to be full of.  Since I am all but married to the laundry around here, I have no choice but to come eye to eye with this clothes cleaning beast multiple times a day.

     When we went shopping for a new washer and dryer three years ago, we were completely smitten with the fancy bells and whistles of the front loading models. They just looked like they were bad asses, luring us to take a walk on the wild side. The salesman at the appliance store helped us to decide on the Maytag line, since it had such a reputable name behind it.  Plus, the commercials all claimed that their repair guys had nothing to do but sit on their rumps all day since nothing made by Maytag ever breaks.  We explained to the man that our laundry area had wood floors, which he claimed would not at all be a problem for the fancy front loaders. We also explained that I probably would do more laundry in a week than most laundry mats do in a month, so we needed something extremely durable.  He reassured us that these machines would not only be more energy efficient but also hold even larger loads. Homeboy was willing to say and do whatever he could to bring home his bacon.  He was all but giving us a lap dance to seal this deal.

     At first, we were in love.  Our new washer and dryer seemed amazing.  I even found myself mesmerized by the swooshing and swushing of the water through the super cool see-through door on the washing machine.  And the dryer seemed to be able to dry however big a load I crammed in there.  I felt confident that the ridiculous amount of money we’d spent on this machinery was well worth every penny since we were knocking out massive amounts of dirty clothes and helping the environment to boot.  

     This honeymoon phase did not last long, however.  Over time our love turned sour and eventually switched over to hatred.  The washer now rumbles and tumbles so much that the machine actually moves out from the wall.  It sounds like the house is going to lift off to outer space when it gets to the spin cycle.  I have to forewarn company when I’m doing laundry so they don’t mistake our house for the Kennedy Space Center.  I’m constantly having to wiggle the monstrous thing back against the wall because it literally dances all the way out into the middle of the hallway.  My husband has tried to balance it more times than I can count, but it always gets off kilter again.  I’ve had service guys out here at least three times now, and I fully expected them to show up here in their little blue uniforms from the commercials jumping at the chance for some work to do.  Instead, they all just acted like I was a moron for buying a machine that was never intended for a wood floor in the first place.  Yeah, thanks a lot Mr. Money Shakin’ appliance store sales guy for feeding us a big, fat line of crap.

     Ungodly vibrations are not the only problem I have with the washer either.  The super cool see-through door has a rubber piece on the inside of it that is a breeding ground for mold.  And I’m not just talking about ugly-looking mold.  I’m talking about ugly-looking, smelly mold.  Who in their right mind wants to wash their dirty clothes and have them come out smelling worse than they did before?  I’ve had to wash loads several times before to be sure they smell like the more expensive high-efficiency detergent I’m required  to buy for the damn thing.  So much for the environmentally friendly feature of conserving water!  I have used more bleach on that friggin’ door trying to get that moldy smell out of there.  After researching online, I found out that Maytag has since corrected this problem on their more current models, which doesn’t do me jack-crap of good.

     Then, we have my loathing for the dryer, which was supposed to dry clothes more efficiently, therefore conserving energy.  Well, when you have to dry the same load of clothes THREE times, I’m not thinking you’re saving a whole lot of energy there.  I’ve also had service men come out for this problem, but it still persists.  I’ve just learned that things like jeans and pants may take two cycles in the dryer.  Yep, our gas company loves us.  

     You’re probably wondering why I’m sitting here bitching about all of this when we could’ve taken care of these issues with an extended warranty package.  Why, yes, we very well could have, IF WE WOULD HAVE PURCHASED ONE!  Mr. Money Maker sales guy had gotten us so hot and bothered over the wonders of Maytag that we didn’t think we’d need one.  We certainly learned our lesson, but I’m still stuck with a washer that’s ready for lift off and a dryer that won’t dry.  Awesome.