Tag Archive: cleaning house


Okay, people. I hate this year already.

So far, in 2015:

The Drama Queen lost a filling. That was a $180 fix.

I broke out in hives IN A VERY DELICATE AREA for no reason whatsoever. That was a $35 copay plus some for a medicated cream.

I broke my mother fucking toe. No, seriously. I get up every morning and buddy tape it to the on next to it. I’m starting to get some movement back in it.

What? How did I break my toe? Tripping over my kids’ shit in the living room, OF COURSE.

I smacked my head into an open cabinet door and thought I was going to die. But I didn’t. Clearly. I’m typing.

Mr. Sasha developed a staph infection. No, really. A staph infection. Out of nowhere.

A friend’s husband died of a heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty fucking nine. Thirty nine. You’re not supposed to die at thirty nine. You’re supposed to spend the entire year dreading entering your forties. But not to the point that you don’t actually make it to your forties.

My mother-in-law’s sister died of natural causes.

Mr. Sasha fell off a ladder yesterday and split his head open. Ah, whatever, he’s tough. Didn’t even need stitches. I forgot to ask if he’s going to get paid for the time he spent at the hospital getting CT scanned and such.

In addition to that, Miss Poopie Pants and I are looking for a play therapist to help us both stop feeling like we’re going to kill each other at any moment. We’re also looking for a good karate school, so, you know, if she DOES decide to kill me, she totally can. But also, you know, burning off energy, gaining discipline, etc. etc. yadda, yadda.

Oh, AND! My car died! And then Mr. Sasha’s truck died! Like, within a week of each other. So, yay! We have two new car payments!

In addition to all this, I’m in the middle of redoing the attic to be a play room for the Sashlettes, and my house is otherwise in a shambles. In fact, it’s never actually been this messy, I don’t think. And my house is very rarely clean.

Well, I go on tears, where I work myself to exhaustion and get every single thing put away, and keep up with everything, often for weeks at a time. But the very first time anything throws my very carefully laid schedule off, the whole house gets shot to shit.

So, I’ve got plenty of things to choose from to bitch about. But I’ve done enough of that. This is mostly a post to set up some future posts. For example, the scintillating discussion about why chewy cough drops should be banned from existence.

HINT: that one has to do with the Drama Queen’s filling.

Or, how about the official pros versus cons list of minivans.

There will, no doubt, be the scintillating series reviewing every single karate school in New Jersey. If you’re not looking for a karate school in New Jersey, oh well. Read it anyway.

And another riveting group of articles about play therapy. Or perhaps a few about the best way to use duct tape to fasten children to a wall.

It was a joke. Don’t call CPS.

So, stay tuned, minions. Writing shall commence forthwith. WTF does “forthwith” mean?

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Suzy Homemaker up in dis house, bitches! My house is very close to Company Clean, with the huge exception of the Sashlettes’ room. That place is the seventh circle of hell.

I mean, I even have candles burning. There’s a goddamned quiche in my oven, minions. The laundry! The laundry is done, folded, and put the fuck away!

It’s insanity, I’m telling you.

I sat down to blog because I can’t think of anything else I have to do. Besides, you know, the Sahslette’s room. And fuck that noise.

I was in a pretty bad place last weekend and part of the problem, I realized, was that the house was getting overwhelming. So, I spent the early part of this week fixing that problem.

That’s me, you know? I fix all the problems. When MPP was crying because it hurt when she peed, I’m the one who drove her to two different urgent care places, and finding them both closed, I’m the one who harassed the CVS pharmacist to get her some pain relief.

I’m the one who cleaned up the mess after The Pupster ripped into a garbage bag and ate an entire chicken carcass.

Fear not, minions, I had used it to make bone broth so all the bones were super soft and mushy. The Pupster is a certified idiot, but he’s not going to die just yet.

I’m the one who drives back and forth to DQ’s guitar lessons, the one who makes lunches every day, and makes sure there’s dinner every night. We’d all be naked if I didn’t do laundry.

It’s frustrating to be a single parent when you’re very married. But I’m working on coming to grips with it, because this is just where we are right now.

Mr. Sasha is working 12 hour days, Monday through Friday, with an hour commute each way. But, on the weekends! On the weekends he only works TEN hour days, with an hour commute each way!

Do I have to tell you that was sarcasm? I hope not; if you didn’t know that, you might want to go find another blog. This one is a little too much for you.

In addition to all that working, Mr. Sasha is also in the process of completing his core course requirements for college, because at 39 years old, he thought it’d be a good idea to get a degree.

To be clear, I don’t disagree with him, I just wish he wasn’t doing it while working seven days a week.

School is entirely online thus far, but as he gets into his major, he’ll have onsite labs and such. That might be easier to deal with, actually.

It basically rolls like this: He gets home from work around 6:30, and we have dinner. Then he opens his computer. I try to keep the kids from bothering him, either by talking to him, or fighting with each other, or otherwise making too much noise.

I make lunches, make sure homework is done and clean up the kitchen from dinner. Then I nag the kids to brush their teeth. I say it at least thirteen times. Some nights? It’s a lot fucking more. A lot. Then I get them to bed. While I get them to bed, Mr. Sasha goes to bed.

By the time I’m done with them and they’re asleep, he is snoring away.

I kind of miss being married.

But, like I said, I’m learning to work with it for now. Someday school will be over and the in-fucking-sane overtime won’t last forever. I think if I can work on some more ways to blow off steam, I’ll be okay.

Like, for example, I’ve finished off about a half a bottle of wine so far, and it’s only 5pm. So, that should help.

Happy weekend, minions!