Category Archives: SAHMotherhood

The Hidden Hazards of Housewifery

I hate it when people assume I have it easy as a homemaker. Because just this morning, I got hit by a motorized scooter at the grocery store.

I should have known the little old lady with the tight perm and polyester pant suit was trouble when I saw her weaving in and out of lanes in produce. I should have kept my distance, but I had other things on my mind. Things like, “How can I tell if this eggplant is ripe?” and “Did my son really just put a twist tie in his left nostril?”

It happened while I was in the freezer section. One minute I’m trying to decide between Butter Pecan and Mint Chocolate Chip, the next I’m pinned between the freezer door and my own organic produce and Greek yogurt-laden grocery cart by a limited mobility vehicle.

After she figured out how to remove her foot from the gas pedal, the driver was very apologetic.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” she croaked as I extricated myself from the wreckage. But thanks to an extra layer of abdominal padding I wear as a proud badge of having survived two pregnancies, I was no worse for the wear. I could think of only one thing as scooter lady put her cart into reverse and began navigating a three-point turn: my little son, Jonas. Last I’d seen him, he was standing a few feet away from me and nibbling on a  cookie.

“Watch out!” I warned him.

But he was way ahead of me, and had been spared. “I saw her coming,” he said. This from a kid who normally looks both ways only after he’s darted headlong into traffic.

The grocery store is not the only place where hidden dangers lurk. Many times have I become light-headed after breathing shower cleaner fumes in an unventilated bathroom, and not a day goes by when I’m not impaled by an errant Lego. I’ve pulled my back hefting a fifty pound bag of play sand from my car to the backyard, fallen off the counter whilst trying to change a light bulb, and somehow given my own self an electric shock just by flipping the switch on the garbage disposal. I’ve watched in amazement as things have caught fire inside my oven and once, when the P-Dawg was working late, I had to kill a spider.

Maybe I’m in the wrong profession.

But wait! Before you go, can I ask you to do me a big favor and “Like” my Facebook page? Just click the Facebook icon under “Subscription Options” in the right margin and it will take you to my FB page, where you can “Like” me. Or, you can click this link to go to straight to the page. I’d really appreciate it! (I like you, too.) 

Did you like this? Subscribe to the blog. (It's free!)

Are They Deaf?

I bet Julie Andrews didn’t lose her singing voice from that botched surgery.  I bet she severed her vocal cords yelling at her kids from the bottom of the stairs.

Before I had children, I never yelled from the bottom of the stairs. I had better things to do, like paint my toenails, read a magazine, or organize photographs into neatly labeled albums. I seem also to recall wandering aimlessly around the mall and trying clothes on, just for fun.

Now, if I’m not standing at the bottom of the staircase screaming like a gym teacher, it’s only because I’m standing next to the rear passenger door of my SUV with my eyes pointed heavenward, uttering “You think I have nothing better to do than stand out here like some kind of chauffeur, freezing my butt off while you climb in? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, just get in the car!”

Through clenched teeth, so the neighbors wouldn’t hear.

From the bottom of the stairs, I yell things like, “If you’re not down here in two minutes, we’re leaving without you and I’m not even kidding!” (a lie) or, “Hey, V-meister! I asked you a question! And if I don’t get a response in the next five seconds, I’m coming up!” (A bold faced lie.)

It’s almost as though my kids are willfully ignoring me.

And that’s why it’s so hard to understand why every time I turn on the vacuum cleaner, a child materializes next to me in two seconds flat with a sudden inexplicable desire to chat.

Did you like this? Subscribe to the blog. (It's free!)