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My Ongoing In Law Cycle Of Thoughts


My in-laws will be visiting in a little over two weeks and I’ve been trying to mentally prepare for them, especially now with our new house, they’ll be staying with us for four fucking days since there’s plenty of space and we can’t use that as an excuse.

I suggested to my husband that they should stay in a hotel anyway for a much-needed break in between the days but he thinks that’s impolite. Well, fuck. I personally don’t think so and would make it more about them needing their privacy but I didn’t win that one.

With the weeks and months that follow after one of their visits, I start softening up to them and after four or so months, I’ll convince myself that they really aren’t that bad. Then, I start feeling like shit about how much I rant about them and think this time when the in-laws come to stay with us, we’ll actually have a pleasant time. Hey, I never said I wasn’t delusional.

I’ll become so worked up with guilt and feel like a horrible person for the things I say about them. I start convincing myself that I just need to suck it up and stop overreacting. The hummingbird adores them and I keep my feelings to myself and it makes me happy that she’s so happy when they visit.

But then, they arrive. When we greet them, I’m kind of like a deer in headlights with thoughts of all the past bullshit I’ve dealt with when it comes to them and also the simple fact that oh shit, they’re actually here and this visit is really happening.

Within ten minutes, my father in law is talking about every single little detail that happened on their trip here and none of it relates to them. He’ll be saying what he overheard someone else on the plane talk about, go into a thorough overview of a person on his flight that he was nearby and without any knowledge of the person, form all of his own ideas and opinions about who this person might be, what kind of job they have, why they were traveling, etc, etc.

Then, we hear about the people who have died, for example a church member’s sister’s uncle’s grandmother who they have no idea about or never met and that will give me a bang my head against a spike moment. We also hear about how much my mother in law misses her over 100 turtles even though it’s been like five hours since she’s seen them.

By the two-hour mark, not only am I ready for them to go to their hotel room that they don’t have, I’m ready for the entire visit to be over with. But, what’s that? They brought a few gifts for the hummingbird. Hmmm, I can’t imagine what the theme of these gifts will be. Oh, look at that! A shirt with a turtle on it and lookie at the other one, a turtle purse.

At this point, I’ve gone into the kitchen at least once but more like twice to get a few shots of vodka. I can’t forget how the father in law will also discuss ALL the fucking construction in detail that he saw while driving up from Boston. Oh. my. god. A text usually goes out to my mom around this time with something usually along the lines of “help!”.

It will be about time for the bird to get into bed and once she’s tucked into her room, the four of us sit there while my FIL goes back to talking about the construction he saw on the way up here. He wonders what they’re doing if it’s road construction and make assumptions. If it’s something he saw being built like a new construction site, oh lawdy, he goes through the details of how it’s going to be built, with lots of detail and with a fine tooth comb even though he doesn’t know what the hell it’s actually going to be.

And again, this is all assumptions but since he loves to hear himself talk and lecture he seems pretty sure of himself that what he’s saying is fact. Oh. my. god. By now it’s been a good four hours since they’ve arrived and while it may be a little rude, I’ll turn on the television and put it on closed captioning and turn down the volume so he can continue with his lecturing and so I won’t fall asleep because the man is like human ambien.

What has become a little escape for me turns into a nightmare because the FIL starts reading the closed captioning out loud. And, he has 20,000 questions about what’s on when I haven’t yet seen it myself. He’s like my 7 year-old when watching things. Is it really that difficult for a 60 something grown man to not be able to draw conclusions for himself??! I mean, he seemed pretty capable with talking about construction bullshit and the people on the plane and in the airport and AGGHHH!

During this time, my MIL will take some passive aggressive starter strikes at me about how the house looks or how the hummingbird is being raised and how that’s not the way they did it when her kids were growing up.

I’m finally done and head off to bed completely wiped out. But the thing is they get me so wound up and are so fucking exhausting to be around that I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ll end up being too tired and mindfucked to sleep.

The next morning, I absolutely dread opening the bedroom door while hearing them out in the kitchen while the hubby gets breakfast together.

My FIL will always ask how I slept and if I’m doing okay. I’ll tell him no, no I’m not okay and I slept like shit because you two stress the fuck out of me so I’m sleep deprived and pissy from the lack of sleep I had that may have been resolved if you would have just stayed at a damn hotel.

Okay, that’s what I’d like to say but just say a simple fine. There’s of course not much breakfast table chatter since my FIL won’t shut the fuck up. He’s like one of those talking dolls that has a string in the back and once you pull it, it talks for a few seconds. Except, his string doesn’t have a stopping place.

There’ll be plans to go out and see the sites but oh darn, I’ve come down with some mysterious ailment and would be better off staying at the house while they go out with the family.

The non stop talking from my FIL and the passive aggressive bullshit from my MIL continues for the rest of the visit and finally the moment arrives.


I put on my fake sad face and it’s all I can do to stop myself from shoving them out of the door. Finally, they’re gone and the bird will feel sad so I’ll console her while in my head a mariachi band plays to celebrate there departure. A few weeks after they’ve left, I’ll start to recover and get some of my sanity back.

After a month or two, the husband will mention that his parents are looking forward to come up and visit us again soon. My eyes meet his and I give him the death stare followed by a ‘they were just here!” A few months later, my daughter will start asking when she’ll see her grandma and grandpa again and I start to feel myself weaken.

The hubby and I go back and forth about what’s a good time for them to come and visit. I weaken some more and think this visit won’t be as bad as all the other ones, despite my 21 years of knowing otherwise.

Because damn it, maybe it’s all me and not just them and I’m sure I was just being on edge when they came for a visit last time.

This visit, I’ll make sure to do all that I can to have more patience.

They arrive and I will make this visit work in my favor.

Two hours later and two shots of vodka down the hatch and I’m ready for them to leave.

And the cycle repeats.


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How To Survive A Visit From Your In Laws

1324012756612_5703688My in laws have finally left and surprisingly, I survived. I pretty much avoided them and stayed out of their way as much as possible. Unless of course they took us out to eat. Because HELLO, FREE FOOD! Who the hell doesn’t like a free meal?! Nobody, that’s who.

If I didn’t avoid them as much as I was able to, I would probably be writing this with pencil and paper from a prison cell. I would’ve been all Orange Is The New Black but really though, orange just isn’t my color.

Well, it isn’t really anyone’s color, except for maybe super hotties like Mark Ruffalo, Ryan Gosling, Chris Hemsworth, Liev Schrieber, or perhaps even the always gorgeous Kerry Washington and Robin Wright.

But I’m totally getting off point here.

For the low, low price of zilch, zero, nada, you too can follow these easy steps to survive your visiting in laws.

Take notes, people! There may be a pop quiz later on.

Step 1: Drink… A Lot. Vodka or wine in a coffee mug is a great choice. Especially one that has been hand painted by your child. It will look sweet and innocent but at the same time, you’ll be getting plastered. It’s a win win.

Hiding your alcohol intake will be one less thing your mother in law will judge you by and bitch about. It will also make it more tolerable and entertaining when your in laws tell you stories about your spouse growing up that you’ve heard 1oo times before.

Step 2: Fake an illness (cramps, bloating, pms, mad cow disease, problematic anal warts) and hide out in your bedroom with chocolate and a good book. Make sure to let out a few groans of pain in their presence.

Step 3: Fake raging diarrhea and hide out in your bedroom with chocolate and a good book. Nobody questions diarrhea. Ever.

Step 4: See steps 1-3.

Happy visiting!

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The in-laws will be here in October. Who has a safe house I can stay at?

fuck this shit1

I found out the other night that I get another special visit from my-laws. HOLD ME!

My MIL is the supreme queen bitch. Always giving me shit for my parenting skills and she seems stuck in the 1950’s because she also gives me shit about the kind of wife I am.

She’s never thought I’ve been good enough and she never will so fuck it, right? Still, she stresses me out like crazy when she visits and I’ll eventually go hide in a room upstairs while they’re here because she just loves throwing shit my way.

Last night the hummingbird heard a few kids across the street from us playing outside. She asked if she could go over to play with them. My husband told her that it’s not polite but rude to go over to someone else’s house unless they invite you first.

Later, my bitch came out and I asked my hubby “So, if your parents invited themselves to visit in October, does that mean your parents are rude?” Yes, I have bitch moments and I’m also pmsing like a mofo.

But I also thought it was interesting that my hubby explained to our daughter what it means to be polite and his parent are ALWAYS inviting themselves to visit and are pretty damn pushy in the process.

Of course I get that they’re his parents and he’s going to defend them but I thought his response to my question was classic.

My husband said “No, they didn’t invite themselves. They just invited us to entertain the idea of them visiting in October”. He was being serious.


Okay, then.

What makes this upcoming visit with them even worse is that our new house is big enough for them to stay with us. Usually I insist to my husband that they stay in a hotel but there aren’t any close enough to our house. Noooooo!

I’m not sure how long they’ll be staying yet but whether it’s 2 days or a week, my monthly Xanax supply will be taking a big hit.

*Four Kicks

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I couldn’t think of a title for this so I’ll just say damn Ryan Gosling, you’re looking mighty fine, babe.

My mind is in the gutter right now.

My mind is in the gutter right now.

So, after spending several weeks in hotels, we finally got a move-in date for our new house.

Is it July 24th, like we were expecting? Nope.

Ooooh, maybe July 17th like we were really hoping. That’s a negative.

The move-in date will be July 29th, two days before my husband starts his new job.

Can I cry now? Yes? Thank you!!

I feel like we’ve been in hotels so long that I may as well become a groupie and call myself Penny Lane.

Okay, not really. But at least I might be having more fun that way. Hehe.

I miss the comforts of home and all of my shit is packed away in storage. This sucks donkey dicks.

The good news is that things are very slowly becoming a little more normal. The little hummingbird starts her new preschool here in Maine on Tuesday. I think that will help some because we’ve been in some pretty cramped quarters.

The hubby and I really need… no desperately need to have some alone time. We’ve had none since I had the miscarriage and I think that could be partly why the emotional pain of this is still so bad. We haven’t had the time to really grieve or discuss it much.

I really wanted to say fuck everything after I lost the baby but I’ve simmered down so yes I will continue blogging as long as you’ll have me.

I’ll keep this short since I need to actually start writing posts again and the door is still wide open if you’d like to guest post. It would be greatly appreciated. I’d like to have enough guest bloggers through the rest of this month and early August.

I’d really hate to see my blog be abandoned during that time and I also love hearing about your stories and what YOU have to say! Email me at elle dot mommyhood at gmail dot com.

I promise, things will get back to normal in a few weeks and my crazy ass will be writing my crazy ass posts in no time!

Love you!

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There it goes!

basementYears ago when my husband and I lived in Seattle we lived in a house (built in 1917) that had the creepiest mofo unfinished basement.

It smelled like dead people. I would dread it every time I went down there. It’s where the washer and dryer was so I was sure that when I went down to get the clothes, I would be murdered by something.

It was also where my husband set up his workshop.

One time, my husband told me that while he was down in the basement of horrors, he saw a mouse running across the floor.

Oh. Hell. No!

Not only did I have to deal with the thought of ghosts, demons, and Freddy Kreuger getting me while I was down there, I also had to deal with mice.

I don’t take too kindly to mice.

One night while my husband was down in the basement, I went to get the laundry out of the dryer.

Whether he was down there or not, when I had to go in the basement for whatever reason, I would have a mini heart attack. I would tip toe to the basement door as not to give whatever supernatural forces that were down there any warning that I was approaching, I would open the door, then I would race down the stairs, grab the laundry while my heart was thumping out of my chest, and race back up the stairs.

This time around, my husband told me that I just missed the mouse running near the dryer.

I wasn’t amused and my husband got the laundry out of the dryer for me while I stood by the basement stairs. When it all looked clear, I decided it was safe for me to got back near the dryer to grab the laundry basket.

That’s when my husband pointed out the mouse scurrying across the ledge of our basement wall and said “LOOK! There it goes!

I dropped that motherfucking laundry basket onto the floor, screamed, and ran up the basement stairs. I ran though the house, out of the front door, and down the stairs of our house to the sidewalk while still screaming. It’s a good think nobody called the cops.

I stood there barefoot on the sidewalk in front of our house and started laughing. By that time my husband had come upstairs to our living room when I walked back in the front door.

He was was cracking up and he kept on rubbing it in and saying “There it goes!” He got a good playful ass kicking.

I sent him out to get mouse traps the next morning. Not long after, he was sent on a 9 month deployment and I had to deal with the mouse traps. Eeeek!

To this day, he still loves keeping me on my toes by yelling out “There it goes!”


*Pomplamoose – Beat It

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A Hairy Situation

I hate having to get my hair done because it’s hard for me to sit still for so long. It usually takes 3 hours to have my barely brushed or thrown in a ponytail hair all glammed up with foil highlights and a cut. Then, afterwards, I’ll be so glad I went to the hairdresser after all.

I’ve had plenty of experience getting a hairdresser from hell and here are just a few….sorry mom but you’re on here. I’LL NEVER FORGET WHAT YOU DID DO MY BANGS!! Ahem.

Since my husband is in the military and we move frequently, the hardest thing I’ve found to deal with is…. finding a good hairdresser. We’ve moved over 10 times since being married and Oy! A good hairdresser can be hard to find.

Once I find a good hairdresser, we’re off to the next place to live and I have to start all over again.

This one time, at band camp…kidding. Really though, this one time, my husband and I had recently moved to San Diego. I had been going to a few different hairdressers but couldn’t find one I liked.

There was a hair salon a few blocks from where we lived that looked pretty nice. I used to walk by it whenever I went to the grocery store and after my disappointing results with my most recent hairstylist, I decided to give this place a try.

My hair is fine but I have a lot of it so it usually takes a good hour or so to get foil highlights. The guy I went to see whipped through my hair and I was all foiled up in about 20 minutes.

Not long after, I was walking out the door. The color looked fine when he showed it to me in the mirror and I thought, ‘FINALLY, I found a decent hairdresser!”

I went next door to the drugstore to pick up some new products for my new color when I happened to come across a mirror.


I looked like fucking Bozo the Clown. No really, I did.

My hair was orange. Really, really orange.

I know I could have easily gone back and asked for a refund. I certainly wasn’t going to ask this man to fix it after the damage he had already done.

Better yet, my head could have been used in place of an orange traffic cone but alas, I decided to just go home and die of embarrassment.

I scoured the internet for hairdressers and found one nearby that I went to the next day.

The hairdresser I went to see told me she gets several clients from the place I went to who need to get damage control for their hair.

The good thing that came out of the ordeal was that after that, I found a really good hairdresser.

Another memorable hairtastrophe involves my mom. Hi mom! I was about 9 years old and needed a bang trim. My mom took me into the kitchen, sat me down, and proceeded to snip away. She snipped some more. Then she snipped even more.

I was thinking ruh roh the whole time.

After she was done, I raced to the bathroom mirror and I’m pretty sure there were tears. She had cut my bangs so short that they were high above my eyebrows. Worse yet is that my hair is naturally curly so they shrank up even more.

My bangs, which usually seem to grow fast, took forever to grow out. After that, I never let her near my hair again. Well, at least not until 10 years later when she seemed to have worked on her bang trimming skills because by then she was bad ass at it.

In my early 20’s, I would dye my own hair and there were plenty of hairtastrophe’s that proceeded. I finally promised myself to never color my own hair again and have since left it to the professionals.

When going to a new hairdresser, I’m always on high alert by what they do and ask question since I don’t want to end up like Bozo the Clown ever again.

Now I am happily having a hair affair with my current hairdresser who gets it perfect ever time. I did have to “cheat” on her once because she wasn’t available.

Isn’t that the worst? Cheating on your hairdresser. Then I went back to my regular one in a sweat. Her: Your hair sure has held up well since I last saw you. Me: OMG, I can’t stand the pressure. I had to see someone else because you weren’t available. Aggghh!

Next year my husband is being stationed one last time before he retires from the Navy so by this time next year, I’ll be back to hitting the pavement, trying to find another great hairdresser.

I’ve already solved that problem though. She doesn’t know it yet but my hairdresser is moving with me.

What kind of hair catastrophe’s have you had?

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An ode to Captcha

Oh dear Captcha how annoying you are

You’re a pain in the ass and I’d like to run you over with my car

All I want to do is leave a comment and you make that impossible

Trying to read those funky words makes me stabby and hostile

I have no idea what a seaction eaketar is

Just let me leave a comment and go about my biz

My dear Captcha you can suck it, you drive me insane

A ferminedo llyso? What in the hell, you’re a pain!

So listen up Captcha and take my advice

Use something that resembles words or I’ll put your balls in a vice



Photo Credit: Geek & Poke


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