Downy Déjà vu

Posted on July 24, 2015 by Harmony

As long as I am married to Robbie, which will be until I’m senile or dead, I will never run out of things to write about. Here is a conversation we had this evening:

Me: “We’re out of laundry detergent, so I can’t wash any more clothes until I go to the store.”

Robbie: “Just use that stuff in the blue bottle.”

Me: “What stuff? You mean fabric softener?”

Robbie: “Yeah, that stuff. It’s all the same.”

Me: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, IT’S ALL THE SAME?!”

Robbie: “It all basically does the same thing. It gets them clean.”

Me: “No … no.”

Robbie: “Yes it does, I washed a few loads awhile back with that stuff.” (He’s referring to the other weekend when I went to the beach.)

Me: (silence)

Robbie: “It got them clean.”

Me: “That explains the weird blue stains on our clothes.”

Robbie: “Oh.”

What’s even MORE amazing is that this exact thing happened when I was 12 years old, and my dad took over laundry duties because my mom returned to the workforce.

Weeks, WEEKS, I TELL YOU, went by with the three of us — me, my mom, and my dad — wondering where all of these grey-blue spots were coming from.

Whoever said that most women end up marrying a man who is just like their father was so, so right.

(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook and Twitter!)

I’m A Liar (and other news).

Posted on April 21, 2015 by Harmony

A lot of other bloggers have a “newsletter” that you can subscribe to and they email them out every week or so. But I have an inbox full of newsletters that I haven’t read and probably never will, so I decided not to subject you people to a Modern Mommy Madness newsletter. It is just another thing that would cause me needless stress.

Instead, I started vlogging. I think we can all agree that this is a terrible idea, but I was cooped up in the house with two small children all last week and I did it out of BOREDOM.

I do a lot out of boredom. Like eat.

If you want to see the vlog fantastic, you’ll have to follow me on Facebook here until I master YouTube and/or figure out how to share the videos on my blog. I keep waiting for Robbie to gently tell me that it’s time to stop, but he hasn’t yet … which means I’m going to continue searing disheveled images of myself into the eyes of the internet.

In other news, I had another piece published on Scary Mommy — you can check it out here. Also, I sold 100 copies of “I Still Just Want To Pee Alone” in TEN DAYS. That was unexpected. I imagined that I would be sitting on a corner somewhere under a tent next to those people who sell area rugs with tiger faces on them.

I kept telling everyone I’m not a salesperson. I don’t sell things. I don’t know how to sell books! I guess I lied. If you want a copy, please drop me a line (modernmommymadness@gmail.com) and let me know! I’ll re-stock soon and start taking orders again once I’ve recovered.

I had a super cute helper at the post office.

I took my youngest to the post office with me last weekend. She loudly sang “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star” as a line of 12 scowly people waited for the clerk to process my box of books. Her little voice echoed throughout the building as the man next to us filed a complaint with a manager because “offensive material” is being delivered to his home. I tried to read the form as nonchalantly as possible without him noticing — WHAT KIND OF OFFENSIVE MATERIAL? — but the print was too small.

The other thing that happened this weekend was that I noticed my husband again after several days of forgetting he lives here. Nothing like seeing a big strong man carrying a sleeping child to make me sit up and take notice.

Well played, Robbie Hobbs.

If you liked this post, then you will LOVE I Still Just Want To Pee Alone! Click here to find out more!

Wife Guilt.

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Harmony

I am sitting here at 8:30 p.m. experiencing my first stretch of quiet in 14 hours, feeling the sting of wife guilt because I haven’t had a full conversation with my husband in at least three days.

As a stay-at-home mom, I experience wife guilt a lot more often than mommy guilt. How can I have mommy guilt when I spend almost all of my time with my kids?

I say “almost all of my time” because there is a 8-hour stretch at night, after I take my three-year-old to the bathroom but before my toddler wakes up at 6 a.m. screeching, when I simply refuse to deal with them.

I am off the clock. I do not adult during that time. Just ask my husband.

I suffer from wife guilt because by the time Robbie gets home in the evening, I am so done with everyone and everything and I want nothing more than get in the car and drive away. And I have. But don’t worry, I always return … after the kids are in bed.

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Me, age 8.

Being a mother is slowly turning me into a terrible wife. I know this because I went to my parent’s house tonight to dig up some old pictures for a project I’m working on, and I happened upon some of Robbie and I when we were 10 years younger and way, way hotter.

He tried to tell me it’s not that we’ve aged 10 years, Harmony. We’ve aged 10 years AND WE HAD THREE KIDS.

Oh, okay.

I do admit, though … looking at this makes my heart speed up a little. No wonder I called him “Hot Robbie” behind his back.

So maybe I will try a little harder to be a better wife, and maybe he will pretend that I can still fit into that dress.

If you liked this post, then you will LOVE I Still Just Want To Pee Alone! Click here to find out more!

Everything That Is Right.

Posted on March 12, 2015 by Harmony

They say men are simple and have simple needs, and I agree with this most of the time.

Robbie needs very few things to be happy, but he’s also strangely multifaceted. He can do things like accompany me to a photo shoot and seamlessly alternate between playing with our toddler and making really inappropriate hand gestures behind the photographer to illicit a “natural-looking smile” from me.

If you know me in real life, you know that I’m not very good at producing natural-looking smiles on command. Being put on the spot makes me anxious. This is also why I’m terrible in interviews.

When I was 12, I had a bad habit of closing my eyes at the precise moment a photo was snapped.

Thankfully, I outgrew that.

Also thankfully, modern technology allows for horrible photos to be deleted and re-taken over and over again until a semi-decent one is created. It makes me a little sad that the youth of today won’t have as many awkward and cringe-worthy photos to dig through when they are in their mid-thirties. It brings me a sense of satisfaction to see how far I’ve come since the days of that Laura Ashley dress.

Last weekend, I met my friend Rachel who is an amazing photographer (you can view her site here) so she could get some head shots, because I am trying to be a professional with professional-type paraphernalia like business cards. I have a book to sell, you know. It’s time to get my shit together.

Rachel snapped this unplanned picture of us, and when I saw it for the first time tonight, tears came to my eyes.

Photo credit: Rachel Ezzo Portraits, LLC

This. This is what happens when the background noise fades away, and it’s just us.

We do not live a charmed life. Some days, it feels like everything is stacked against us and nothing is easy or simple and we’re always going to be behind in every possible way. I try not to focus on the hard stuff, but sometimes it’s hard not to.

Whenever I get mad at him or feel like everything is all wrong, I’m going to look at this picture to be reminded me of everything that is right and easy.

Diagnosis: Mother.

Posted on March 8, 2015 by Harmony

Today I realized that my 3-year-old isn’t as attached to his special blanket anymore. I realized that I have never rocked my 21-month-old to sleep, because she is the third child and in this house, the third child gets a bedtime kiss and dumped into her crib without ceremony.

Now that my oldest eschews rocking and my middle only lets me do it sometimes, I WANT TO ROCK SOMEONE BEFORE BED, DAMN IT.

Motherhood makes me feel like a crazy person. In fact, I am a crazy person.

To prove my point, I have created a visual aid using a family picture of us from October 2012, two months after The Great Negotiation.

Because everything about this picture screams “WE NEED MORE CHILDREN!”

What’s The Great Negotiation? That was the time I spent months trying to convince my poor husband that I wasn’t done having children and we needed more, despite the fact that we were struggling on one income and had two very challenging boys — one of whom was not quite a year old. I felt like we totally needed to throw one more baby into the mix. That made sense to me.

This is how I know that mothers have something deeply, psychologically wrong with them.

The Great Negotiation took place during date night at Outback Steakhouse. My husband eventually wore down and said “FINE. But I have to get a vasectomy before the baby is born.” And I said, “FINE. I’m ordering a beer.”

Less than a year later, our daughter was born.

Less than a year after that, I regretted allowing the vasectomy. Because I have a mental illness.

It’s called Mother.

Doctor’s Orders.

Posted on March 6, 2015 by Harmony

It’s Friday night, which means it’s time for Virtual Happy Hour! My children are glued to glowing screens and my husband just ran to the store because I have PMS and want to drink chocolate syrup directly from the bottle.

DON’T YOU DARE JUDGE ME.

This thing holds 25 OUNCES. Thank you for my favorite glass, Kate!

If I was a true professional with professional-grade tools, I would have edited out my facial blemishes. But I’m not a professional, nor am I a responsible adult, so I’m just going to sit here with my enormous glass of wine and zitty face and chill.

Today I downed two cups of coffee, went to Zumba, came home, logged onto Facebook … and saw my napping body plastered all over social media. That was jolting. Modern Mommy Madness made the Today.com list AGAIN! Now the whole nation will know the miracle of Napilates.

To all of the tired women everywhere: just lie down. As long as you have your workout wear on, it’s all good. You’re totally working out, it just looks like you’re not. If someone wakes you, tell them to HUSH. You’re EXERCISING.

In other news, Robbie has high blood pressure. This comes as no surprise, as I have witnessed him consume more vegetables in the past 6 months than he consumed in our entire 12-year relationship. Even still, it’s upsetting. I married a man two years younger than me. I didn’t sign up for hypertension.

I called and made him a doctor’s appointment, because what I may lack in bedside manner I make up for in pragmatism. I nervously waited for him to come home, to hear the awful truth of his situation. He walked in with a very serious look on his face.

“Well?? What did the doctor say?” I asked nervously.

He took a deep breath. I waited.

“She told me the only thing that will make me better is to get more blow jobs from my wife.”

I immediately said it was time for Napilates.

My Best Half.

Posted on March 4, 2015 by Harmony

My marriage is not perfect.

As much as I would love to think of myself as the perfect wife, I’m not. At all. I have high standards. I’m demanding. My expectations are lofty — not just of my husband, but also of my children.

Sometimes Robbie will tell me that he feels like nothing is ever good enough for me, and he’s right. Nothing is. I always want more, because I am a goal-oriented person. I’m a Capricorn, a mountain goat who wants to climb because I enjoy it and I don’t have time for your whining or lollygagging so either get on board or get out of my way.

Yeah. That.

I expect my sons to open doors and say “yes ma’am” and carry their Fiestaware dishes to the sink. Yes, my kids eat on real dishes. I expect them to follow directions and behave in public and say “thank you” and “please” because manners get you farther in life than just being smart. I expect them to follow directions and I expect to be respected because I am their mother and I deserve it.

I expect my husband to be able to fix things and keep up with the yard and be emotionally present and provide for our family. I expect him to listen and communicate and deal with the kids at the end of the day when I just can’t anymore. I expect him to be serious and funny and my partner in all things.

I expect a lot.

My expectations can be difficult to live with, but I give a lot in return and I am more demanding of myself than I am of anyone else. It will be a lifelong process for me to inch slowly toward Robbie’s end of the spectrum, where nothing is a big deal, as he inches slowly towards my side, where everything is urgent. We are truly yin and yang, which on a good day means we bring out the best in each other … and on a bad day, I want to claw his eyes out.

He does things like buy me stress-relieving water. Want to know why I was stressed? Because he was taking too long in the store. I could see him in there, wandering around. What the hell is taking him so long?! We need to GO!

He was hunting for the perfect beverage for his wife, that’s what he was doing.

Sidenote: the water didn’t relieve my stress.

The thing about our relationship is the love that overarches all of the differences between us. I could have married someone else and been happy. Maybe. But I have never and will never love anyone like I love Robbie Hobbs, and that is the thing that grounds me in our marriage. That is the thing that makes everything else make sense.

And then, from time to time, Robbie does something startling that reminds me just how lucky I am.

In the blogging world, there are conferences that writers attend to learn how to be a success — whether that means learning how to make money through blogging, or how to go from blogging to authoring an actual book. I kept hearing about one conference in particular, BlogU, that I really wanted to attend. It’s supposed to be the best, and I think we all know how I feel about things that are the best. Why waste time doing something that is only marginally passable, when I can aim for THE BEST?

So back to the conference, Jill Smokler of Scary Mommy will be there. Jen Mann of People I Want To Punch In The Throat will be there. A ton of writers I am obsessed with will be there. I wanted to go so badly, tears would well up every time I thought about it.

I talked about it for months. Robbie wanted me to go, but we just don’t have the money for a trip like that. The airfare alone was ridiculous, and we are a one-income family of five. I felt guilty for wanting to go, but I’m a mountain goat. I can’t help myself. I WANT TO CLIMB.

I began looking into corporate sponsorships and devised a plan of action. When I sat Robbie down and presented it to him, he was on board … but quiet. Finally he said, “I think this is a solid plan, but you don’t have enough time to make it happen. I just don’t want to see you stressing out over anything extra. I’m going to figure something out.”

Then he stood up, and he took action. He set up a Go Fund Me. (You can view it here, it’s really cute.)

I cringed — hard — when he showed me his plan. I loathe crowd funding, and I dislike feeling like a charity case, but it was a huge success. People genuinely wanted to help. I feel really humbled by it (mostly because, if I’m honest, it really bothers me that I couldn’t afford to go on my own, without asking for help), and grateful to him because he knew I would miss out otherwise.

We had all of the money within one week.

So yes, I have high standards.

And that is why I married Robbie Hobbs.

Before we had children.

Happy Birthday, Robbie.

Posted on January 27, 2015 by Harmony

My husband turned 33 today.

When I fell in love with him, he wore navy blue Pumas. Today, he bought a pair of cowboy boots.

This is just one example of how love conquers all.

Those are cowboy boots.

Womanizer.

Posted on January 23, 2015 by Harmony

Every so often something will happen that reminds me of how grateful I am not to be out there in the dating pool. Marriage is hard work, but dating was exhausting. I wasn’t very good at it. I could give you a list of reasons why, but frankly I’d rather not rehash it.

Just know that it wasn’t my specialty.

Yesterday before Zumba class, I was standing off to the side of the room minding my own business when an older woman approached and said, “I thought of you today when I got dressed.” I had never spoken to her before, but she was delightfully engaging/borderline rowdy/possibly crazy, which is exactly what I love in a geriatric.

She showed me her cute workout outfit (complete with large hoop earrings — I high-fived her for that one) and I stood there mouth agape as she rattled on about how she has a son who is single. It took me a few minutes to catch on that she meant she has a son who is single and she wanted me to meet him.

“He’s very tall — like 6’5 — and SO handsome. Honey, he’s a catch. Recently divorced, two kids, makes a lot of money. A lot. You should see his home, it’s gorgeous. Let’s see … he’s a very good cook. Almost too good, really. Sometimes you just want to tell him to get out of the kitchen.”

She then grabbed my left hand and said, “You aren’t married, are y— OH, DAMMIT.” She threw her hands up in the air in what I can only describe as disgust, as I assured her that her son won’t have any trouble finding love.

“It sounds like he won’t have a problem finding someone,” I offered.

That is when she looked straight at me and said, “He won’t find anyone, honey. HE’S A MAJOR WOMANIZER.”

Oh … I see. That IS a problem. But thank you anyway for trying to set me up with your whore of a son.

Robbie has long said that there is no way he could handle more than one woman in his life. The emotional outbursts, the need for discussion, the complicated bodies, the feelings … my husband is not cut out for philandering. This is why I have surrounded him with light.

Disgruntled Gypsy.

Posted on January 12, 2015 by Harmony

Last Friday night, Robbie took me on a date …

Wait for it …

That he arranged all by himself. My husband is awesome about doing that on occasion. I am very lucky in that respect, but unfortunately for him, I am not the date I used to be. At all.

On this particular night, I was exhausted and emotional and not very much fun. I tried to rally. I was there, wearing real clothes, standing upright. We had dinner, went to see Guns N’ Roses and Metallica cover bands, and didn’t get home until after midnight.

On the surface, it appears that I rocked that shit. But I think we all know better.

1. My toddler bit me on the shoulder twice this week. If you look closely, you can see the bruises. If that’s not sexy, I don’t know what is.

2. Since I was going to be in a classic rock-type situation, I tried to channel Gemma from Sons of Anarchy. I quickly realized that I lack the leather, the attitude, and the body type, so I went with disgruntled gypsy instead.

3. Despite the fact that I constantly tell myself I’m not out of touch, every time I leave my house and go to a place outside of my corner of suburbia, I am slapped in the face with the fact that I AM OUT OF TOUCH. I haven’t seen the inside of a collegiate music venue in so long that I got all weird and made Robbie retrieve the free draft beer because I didn’t want to have to ask the bartender for my free draft beer. “It feels rude,” I told him. When he hesitated, I made my disgruntled gypsy face.

4. Youths make me nervous. I don’t know if it’s because they draw attention to the fact that I’m yawning every 5 minutes (they aren’t), or because I’m bitter that I’ll be up at 6:00 a.m. with small children (they aren’t). When one got near me, I scooted closer to Robbie, but not too close, because …

5. I am officially at the point where I can’t even muster energy for sexy time on date night if I’m tired. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. Up until this point, I could be the tiredest I’d ever been, but if it was date night, it also meant sexy time. Those days are now over. What used to be “the tiredest I’d ever been” is now my normal resting state. My “tired” has taken on a new level. See #6 for details.

6. Apparently, when I’m as tired as I was last Friday, I get weepy and weird and even though I try really hard not to talk about our children (because, date night), I JUST CAN’T HELP IT. I ended up bringing up a stressful topic involving one of the kids and working myself up over it on the one occasion that I didn’t need to think about it. Because that was clearly the sensible thing to do.

7. When a girl ran onstage and flashed the audience, I gasped in horror. She escaped the security man and popped back up later. I kept thinking about her mother. This is how I know I’m not the date I used to be, because I stood there thinking, if my daughter ever pulled a stunt like that and I heard about it, I would be equal parts mortified and concerned and OMGWHATWOULDIDO?!

8. Metallica, and their cover bands, terrify me.

9. Head-banging terrifies me. Brains should not be shaken like that.

By the time I got home, I just wanted to put on my adult-sized fleece onesie, take out my contacts, and insert my earplugs. Which is exactly what I did.

Don’t judge me … you don’t want to see my disgruntled gypsy side.

Axl Rose impersonator, in his underwear.

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