Tag Archive | flaws

Dear McSweetie

Oh, that is the cute name I call my dear husband. He’s like McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy, but he’s mine and even cuter than Patrick Dempsey. Which is hard to be, cuz that Patrick is FINE.

When I get the urge to write something like this, I pretty much drop everything and do it. Not always do I feel like a warm and devoted housewife. Often I feel like a cold-hearted bitch with a bone to pick. And by bone, I mean big ol’ fish to fry, burr in my craw, chip on my shoulder the size of Lisa Rinna’s top lip. SOO, I am in a good mood and was thinking fondly of the ol’ ball and chain. So I thought I would dedicate this little ditty to him.

Dear McSweetie-

It’s been 15 years that we have been married come this August. I can’t believe how time flies. And although you are not perfect by any means. And by ‘not perfect’, I mean, have no clue how to empty the dishwasher or load it.  You pretend you still don’t know where stuff goes in the cupboards even though we’ve lived here ten years, and things haven’t changed really- at all. You don’t know how to put your dirty socks IN the clothes hamper. You can’t seem to get your beard and neck hairs out of the sink or away from MY toothbrush. You seem to miss the garbage can while clipping your toenails. BUT- even with ALL those little flaws, I thank you for putting up with MY flaws.

Yes- shocker. I have them. You know this, but THEY might not know this. (THEY, are my blog readers honey, pretend we have an audience.) Okay- so here goes. Thank you for not picking on me for the following:

Wearing socks to bed every night of the year (even in summer except when it’s reallllly hot, like 85 degrees or something). Remember my orange socks of our early wedded years? I should’ve kept those. They were so thick and cozy. And orange.

Wearing the rattiest, saggiest pajamas to bed every night. I can’t sleep in the nude OR one of the various Victoria Secret nighties you’ve bought for me over the years. Sorry those only see day light when I bring them with us if you and I go away for an outing overnight that involves a hotel. Hotel nooky = sassy night gowns. Wearing that at home would mean that I would have to go through the trouble of changing out of them before morning came. Because getting the kids ready for school in satin and lace is just gross and weird. And itchy. So I’m not going to even bother. PJs it is. Sorry.

Wearing the same pair of lounge pants three days in a row  and not wearing any makeup despite the Sephora store that is practically our bathroom. Geesh, I’m lazy.

Never mentioning that my legs feel like a cactus since I haven’t shaved since September.

Not complaining over the bajillion products and lotion bottles that cover our bathroom counter top.

Having to see my lady bits when I birthed our children. I know you asked not to be down there. Cuz being ‘down there’ when they’re conceived is really different than when those watermelons are coming down the pike. There’s poop, there’s goo, there’s tearing.  Oh lawd, even I didn’t look when they offered the mirror. So I’m sorry. That must’ve been real hard for you. I’m also sorry I didn’t let you play with my milk jugs after the babies were born. I know I must’ve resembled someone out of Hustler magazine, but considering my boobs felt like flesh that had been twisted in a vice that was so sensitive even air hurt when it touched them- you didn’t have a chance.

Thank you for letting me complain how messy the garage is, but not saying anything to me about how ransacked the pantry looks.

Not complaining when I’ve been home all day, didn’t make dinner, and then ask you to pick something up.

You give me the remote.

Pretending that you don’t realize how many shoes and purses I actually have.

And who would have thought, the kids call you the 'goofy one'!

That’s all I can think of for now.  I’m sure I will add to this list soon. Despite the fact my flaws are so few and far between



Hot babe

(okay, that isn’t what he calls me, I just think it’s what he thinks of me)

I remind my children daily how awesome I am.

My kids are really skilled at pointing out my shortcomings. My flaws if you will.

“mom you chew your cereal loudly…”

So I am going to make a list of all the things I am awesome at. And all the things I suck at. I’m hoping by the end of this list, the former outnumbers the latter. Or vice versa. Or versa visa, this blond gets confused.


I have oven timer ESP. This means that about 20 seconds before the oven timer goes off, I always go into the kitchen to check the clock and see it’s almost time to ding. And then I high five the air to congratulate myself because once again, I beat the clock.


I chew cereal really loudly. I don’t know why. I try to be quiet. The crunchy granola nuggets hurt my teeth so I keep my lips loose around the clusters. Oh my gawd that sounded bad. Anyway… Owen always makes me sit somewhere other than the room he is in when I eat cereal.

What? I can't hear you I'm crunching my cereal.


I can wax my own eyebrows. My kids could really give a shit about this, but the husband should be happy since I save him money by doing this.


I think I can dance, but I really can’t. Worst yet, I think I can dance like Beyonce and Jennifer Lopez, but I can’t. I’m just a white girl from the ‘burbs with junk in her trunk that thinks she can shake it.

I AM Beyonce. Yep that's me on the bottom in the middle. I'm NOT delusional, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.


I have amazing ability to do hair and makeup, whip up a costume from a feather boa and a night shirt and I do face paint pretty damn good. The kids from the neighborhood come here on Halloween for me to do their makeup.


I can’t play a video game to save my life. The children never want to play XBOX or Wii with me because of this. Sure they beat me, but it becomes dull to just beat on the miserable and pathetic.


I’m really flexible and amaze them with my yoga abilities.


They love poking my muffin top and asking me to make it jiggle. Li’l buggers.

Anyone hungry?


I curse. They hate it. My kids are policing MY language, not the other way ’round. That’s seriously fucked up. See? Put a dollar in the swear jar.


I read distasteful magazine like Cosmo that have words like ‘sex’ and ‘orgasm’ on the cover. They are embarrassed and horrified if I forget to put them in my room or face down.


I chew tortilla chips loudly, laugh loudly and talk on the phone loudly. Hmm… I see a pattern here. I guess my kids think I’m LOUD. For crying out loud!

This list is making me tired.

I really think there’s more awesomeness in me. But I have to go chew my cereal quietly and think about it.