25 Mar
Dear Friend, Your Kid Is a Bully

It’s Guest Mouthy Housewife Day and we’re excited to have the wonderful VodkaMom here today!   Because not only is she funny, I have many, many fond memories of spending time with her in a NYC piano bar.   That may or may not involve vodka.   Make sure to visit her funny and clever  blog (if you’re one of the four people out there who doesn’t read it already, that is.)

– Marinka

Dear Mouthy Housewives,

I love doing playdates with my best friend but her kid is a total bully. Constantly snatching things out of my child’s hand and doing things to make her cry. But my friend is completely blind to the situation.

She never does a thing to reprimand her kid. Should I give up the playdates or try to talk to her about her wild child? I don’t want things to get awkward.

Signed,

Your Kid is a Bully

_______________________________

Dear Kid is a Bully,

 

Okay, so let me get this straight:   Her kid is basically beating the crap out of your child’s self-esteem and confidence and you don’t want to make things awkward?

Well, I’m no rocket scientist (nor have I ever wanted to be) but I have to say that it’s time to grow some balls and speak up.

You need to be clear, use   specific examples when discussing it with your friend, and end with “What can we do TOGETHER to help them be great friends, like we are?”

And if that doesn’t work, I say pack up your wine and the Barbies and find some other friends for your daughter to play with.     You can still be friends with the mom , but I would be sure that you leave your daughter home with Daddy when you   do.

A final note.   You can use the opportunity to talk to your daughter about her pseudo-friend’s behavior and about the ways that friends treat each other.   It’s an important lesson that we all learn throughout our lives.

Signed,

Vodka Mom, Guest TMH

 

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24 Mar
A Mouthy Housewife Goes Double Secret Undercover

Dear Gorgeous Mouthy Housewives Readers,

It’s time we let you in on some earth-shattering news. Mouthy Housewife Heather (that’s me!) is going double secret undercover. In case you don’t understand the “double secret” part, it means my mission is TOP SECRET times two, which is why we’re telling the entire internet. So, you know, shhhhhh.

One-half of my TOP SECRET housewife mission is to infiltrate the domestic species called Happy Suburbanus Homowifeicus (commonly called June Cleaver). I’m to study their ways and investigate the true source of their happiness. (Did they really find Jesus in the kitchen, or did they actually find what Moses was smoking while “high” on Mt. Sinai?) I’ll be honest – it’s taking a lot of alcohol for me to keep up the appearance of extreme happiness. But after a three-martini lunch and a flash of my Excel spreadsheet shopping list, they accepted me as one of their own. Now I only need an organic raised-bed vegetable garden in my cookie cutter backyard and I’ll be inducted into their inner circle!

The second half of my TOP SECRET mission is to work my way into a local homeschooling sect and find out why everyone raves that it’s the best thing ever and how much they love it. I suspect they spend a lot of time sniffing dry erase markers. I suspect this because that is what’s working for me. (Homeschooling is the best…snniifffffff. Ahhh! I loves it so much!)

It’s a dicey undercover role I’m taking on, y’all. Already I’m eyeing my next-door neighbor’s weedy lawn and wondering at what point I can report them to our Home Owners Association. The line between a happy housewife and a bored overachiever in denial has become blurred.

It’s also a time-consuming role, which means you’ll no longer find me here on a weekly basis. I hope you understand. I have 16 FEET OF HYBRID ORGANIC TOMATOES TO GROW, OMFG. And dry erase markers to sniff. The good news is that I’ll still pop in from time to time as a guest writer. And Marinka, Kelcey, and Wendi may drop you little updates of my mission, so if you hear them mention Daisy Curbstone, you know who they’re talking about.

So until then, I’ll leave you with the Happy Suburbanus Homowifeicus blessing…

Go forth and propagate!

(It’s their traditional way to wish you well in your vegetable-growing endeavor, but now I wonder if I’m required to have sex with their husbands. Shit. This means I’ll have to look good naked too. I’m never getting out of here.)

A very fond farewell,

Heather, TMH

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23 Mar
Please No Bouncing Here

Dear Mouthy Housewives,

My daughter has been asking for a trampoline for her birthday and my husband is seriously thinking about it. I have made my feelings very clear about not wanting one for a number of reasons.

First, my daughter has sprained both ankles this past year alone, once by tripping on a soccer ball. This poor child can barely walk without hurting herself. Second, I have seen her older brother and his friends on other trampolines. It’s amazing that someone has not gotten seriously hurt. Third, we have spent a boatload of money landscaping our yard and installing sprinklers. I’d like to see the grass we’ve paid dearly for and not some big trampoline.

Lastly, and most importantly, I do not want this trampoline to become the kid magnet I expect it to be. I have a hard enough time with the neighborhood urchins knocking at my door looking for my kids to play. I don’t need to run the risk of them conveniently showing up when my kids are on the trampoline.

How can I convince my thick husband to honor my wishes?

Signed,

Don’t You Just Want an iPad for Your Birthday?

_____________________________

Dear DYJWIYB,

I believe in full disclosure in the blogosphere so I want you to know that I have a trampoline and oh my god do I love it. I grew up with one. You know, one of those trampolines that had no padding and no protective net. Just rusty metal corners and a crap load of bounce.   And after 2 years of chiropractic work, my back feels just fine.

I have such fond memories of trampolining (despite that pesky back problem) that when I recently moved to the suburbs, I knew one was in my future – especially because they are a whole lot safer now.   I spend a lot of the day on that thing with my girls (age 6 and 4). And I get exercise at the same time.   Plus, it’s really like a big outdoor playpen. My kids are happy and my house is clean.

But let me honestly address all of your concerns…

1. Your daughter will at some point probably hurt herself on the trampoline.

2. Her older brother and his friends will probably injure themselves too. Put “severely” in front of “injure” if there is drinking involved.

3. If your lawn is a diameter of 12 feet (the size of your average trampoline), you will not see it.

4. Everyone you’ve ever known within 15 miles will stop by to do some jumping.

Clearly, your concerns are valid.   And most importantly, this is how you feel. And your husband should honor that. It shouldn’t be HIS decision. It should be your decision together and right now you’re not comfortable with it.

If you need a little back-up, many home ownership insurance policies won’t cover you if you have a trampoline so a quick call might solve your problem. Plus tell that thick lovable man that the Mouthy Housewives are in your corner.   He needs to let this go.

Signed,

Kelcey, TMH

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22 Mar
Airing Your Dirty Laundry About Your Dirty Laundry

Dear Mouthy Housewives,

I am losing my mind with laundry. I don’t understand why my children take off their pants and underwear in one move, so that the underwear is stuck inside the pants and I then have to separate them while I do laundry. And also socks. Why must they throw them, balled up, into the basket and then I have to unball (?) their disgusting stinky socks. GOD!

Signed,

Laundry Wench

_________________

Dear Laundry Wench,

Remember those halcyon days when you were first pregnant? When all of the books and movies you saw showed the joys of new motherhood and how beautiful life with a sweet baby was going to be? Yes? You do?

Well, lady, it was all a total crock.

Because what nobody tells you about motherhood is that immediately after your epidural wears off, you’ll suddenly find yourself stuck in a 20+ year abusive relationship with a Maytag washing machine. Not to mention his evil sock eating cohort, the f*cking dryer. And, baby, I hate to break it to you, but there ain’t nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. Yo ass gonna be stuck in that laundry room til they ship you off to the funny farm for licking Bounce dryer sheets and shotgunning Tide straight out of the bottle. (Bottoms up!)

However, the good news is it still might be possible to make your indentured servitude a little less painful—if you put a few Laundry Rules in place. Rules such as:

First Rule: All underwear must be removed from pants before placing into hamper or the offender will be charged $1.00 per tighty whitey.

Second Rule: All socks must be de-balled before placing into hamper or the offender will be charged $1.00 per sock.

Third Rule: All pockets must be emptied of all rocks, sticks, Silly Bandz, crayons, chicken nuggets, mommy’s lipstick, etc. before placing into hamper or the offender will be charged $1.00.

Fourth Rule: Whoever does the laundry gets a solo vacation to Mexico once   year.

Remember, the kids are going to keep doing those annoying things with their clothes unless you give them incentive not to do those annoying things, so you need to stand up for yourself. Let yourself be heard. Slap a laundry basket on your head and run through the streets screaming, “I’M MAD AS HELL AND I’M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE, YOU KETCHUP STAINED MORONS!” until you get arrested. And/or made the president of your PTA.

Because while you may feel like you’re The Laundry Wench, nothing’s going to change a bit until you start acting like The Laundry Bitch.

Good luck,

Wendi, TMH

 

 

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21 Mar
I’ve Got a Song in My Heart (And I’m Going to Sing It Out Loud)

Dear Mouthy Housewives,

I have what I believe to be a solid marriage, except when my husband and I are in the car together.   See, when he’s driving, he likes to sing along with the radio.   And I can hear him.   And I don’t like the way he sings, and I don’t like the faces that he makes while he’s singing.

I’ve asked him to please not sing, and he stops, but then he looks so sad that I feel like I’ve killed one of his dreams.   What do you think? Should I suck it up for the health of our marriage?

Signed,

Please Shut Up

____________________________________

Dear Please,

I hear you.   Listening to someone else sing along with the radio is very painful.   I suspect it would be annoying even if Prince were karaoke-ing Born This Way, to say nothing of Bob Dylan doing Cee-Lo Green.   (I’m assuming that your husband, like mine, is more in the Bob Dylan singing camp than in the Prince one.)   (Not that I have personal ear- splitting and soul-stabbing experience with this.)

I’m not going to insult you with easy solutions like wearing headphones, earplugs or hiring a vocal cord removal specialist to pay your husband a visit, because I assume that you’ve already considered and rejected all of those fine options.

And also because your question is not how you can get him to stop, but whether you should.   Because you married a man who loves to sing.

And therefore, I’m going to turn my back on years of feminism and self-assertion and tell you to let him sing.

As a matter of fact,   you should encourage it.   Before the next car trip, suggest a night out at a karaoke bar.   A long night in a loud karaoke bar (as opposed to one of those karaoke outfits that specializes in lullabys) where he will sing until he is hoarse.   Chances are that he will have to resort to lip syncing for the next few days and you can enjoy a quiet ride.

Obviously, you can’t preemptively visit a karaoke bar before every car trip.   And for those times that you can’t, try to see how long you can let him sing before you can’t stand it anymore.   If he’s a great husband, and this gives him joy, it’s not that much to ask for.

Just close your eyes and think of the Royal Wedding.

Lalala,

Marinka, TMH

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