So far we have had two guest writers featured on our blog. And man, did they nail it or what?! If you have not read Nick’s and John’s blog, stop everything you are doing and read them. NOW!

It is time for some Shitty Housewife interaction. We are coming up on our 4th month here at our blog. And it has been awesome. What a warm welcome?! I personally was not expecting it. Of course we have had our share of rude comments, people not “getting” what we are doing, and someone even questioning if I was happy in my home life. But overall, we have had WAY more happy readers than not. You guys are the best. Thank you for understanding what we are doing and where we are coming from, it makes us feel a little more normal and a little less shitty!

So today is all about YOU! How can you get involved with The Shitty Housewife? We are welcoming all platforms, soapboxes, bitch sessions and overall WEIRDOS out there who have something to say, but nowhere to say it. Even if you have never written before, but still have some words of wisdom to spill, this is the place! We are not trained writers either!!! (Hence all the typos!) We love our guest writers and would love you to be one! Don’t be scared, we are The Shitty Housewife, your words cannot be as bad as ours.

Another way you can get involved???? Send us a question! We are shooting our very first VLOG this weekend and would love to answer your burning questions. It does not matter how random, funny, or personal they are…we will answer them! Honestly, truthfully and SHITTY. So send them in via Facebook, Instagram, or the website! We would love to feature your question this weekend.

And lastly, do you sell a product or service that you believe in? Want me to try it and review it? The Shitty Housewife would love too! The only thing I turn down is my collar so bring on your items and IDEAS!!!! Should I do a cleanse? Go vegan? Try a drug? (j/k….maybe) Give me an idea and I will make it happen!!! Better for me to try and fail than you!

So there ya go folks, ways you can get involved. Guest write, send a question or give me something to review. We will take it all. Including any suggestions on what we can do to improve. Although we embrace the mediocre, we also would love to be a little less shitty for you!

And always, thanks for all the support. This is turning into a dream and I love it. Can’t thank you all enough for the love!

XOXO

The Shitty Housewife

 

A strong king needs an even stronger queen to be able to submit to, so that his kingdom doesn’t fall.

There’s one thing in today’s marriages that I consistently keep seeing and that is “how to save it” or how to “spice your marriage up.” As a married man who loves his wife who he has been with for almost 8 years now, I can say you won’t find those answers through a T.V advertisement or a counselor, and you won’t find the answer at the bottom of a cereal box either. The prize at the end of the tunnel for a husband shouldn’t be, “what am I getting out of the relationship?” but, “is she getting what she needs out of this relationship?”

I know, I know. Every man reading this is calling me crazy and thinking I am a weak man for thinking this way. But I can tell you I am a 260lbs, bald, bearded, heavily tattooed, and from what I have been told I am also a somewhat intimidating man…but I have no problem catering to my wife and her needs as a woman and as a person. And yes that also means submitting to her and making her your queen.

But it wasn’t always like this. I used to be the guy who worried about my needs before even thinking about what hers were. I used to leave her at home while I went out and partied with my friends. I used to leave her at home while I lied about where I was going. I used to leave her awake at night wondering when I would come home or if I would come home. I was a shitty person and most importantly I wasn’t a husband. I was a man who put a ring on her finger and lied about my intentions. And I am beyond happy that she saw the man who I truly am rather than the one I was acting like and stuck it out with me so that I could redeem myself.

It wasn’t until I read an article written by Brad Pitt about his wife Angelina Jolie that I changed my thought process on what my marriage would be. In a brief synopsis of that article it went on to say that his wife was depressed, losing weight, not wanting to get out of bed and wasn’t enjoying any aspect of her life for the most part. And he was able to reverse those feelings just by toting on her and bragging about her and waiting on her hand and foot. He built her up so that she could then in turn build herself up as well both mentally and physically. It just took the support and love of her husband to do so.

I don’t remember the exact day, or even month for that matter but I started doing the exact same thing. I couldn’t enter a room without talking about her. I couldn’t tell about my weekends without bragging how she made it amazing. I paid attention to every article of clothing she would put on and complimented her on them. I would walk by and grab her butt at every chance I got just to show her she had my attention. I was helping her out of the rut that I was mostly responsible for in the first place. Because that’s my job as a husband.

Just like any habit it has to start with pattern. Well after months and months of doing this she flourished! She gained confidence I have never seen before. Our household was at peace, our love was passionate, and our life felt like ours again. Not because we went to counseling, not because we tried some magical pill that helped us in the bed room, and not because we wanted it to… but we needed it to …. We have never mentioned it even to this day. But we were both thinking the same thing so many couples do, “are we going to make it or should we just get a divorce and stop wasting time…?”

Take action men. If you truly love your wife, worship her! Rub her back, bathe her, take her to the mall and shop all day with her (with no complaints), tell her how beautiful she is when you can tell she’s self-conscience about a new outfit she put on. Don’t let a day go by that she feels unimportant and neglected. And last but certainly not least LOVE HER! And I don’t mean just give her a kiss on the way out the door. Really love her unconditionally and show her how much she really means to you. It’s not weak and it’s not going to make you less of a man to make your world about her.

Be a king to your queen or your kingdom will fall.

So I am creeping up on week 7 of Bikini Body Girls with Kayla Itsines. I am still not bikini ready though. I know her program is 12 weeks and being through the half way point, I thought I would notice more of a change as far as what I am seeing. I know, I have had three kids, I am not expecting miracles….but, I feel like every time I work out I am getting my ass kicked. So I should have a pretty sweet 6 pack by now right??? Wrong. No 6 pack…yet (maybe because of all the 6 packs of beer I drink…my bad!)

Cons-This shit is getting harder. Every week, even repeat weeks, I mildly dread the work out. Mainly because it BLOWS! I am sore, tired, worn out and just watching my stop watch waiting for 7 minutes to be done! Again, I am still having trouble making it happen at home. I do, I am trying, but again I am always finding something else to distract me.

Pros-Well, I may not feel like I look any different, but for two weekends in a row I have worn outfits I wore 5 years ago! One skirt I wore to a concert with the hubs and the last time I wore it was on our very first date!!! I never thought I would ever fit into it again. I loved it! HE LOVED IT (wink, wink.) I mean this workout has to be working if after three pregnancies of gaining 30+ plus each I can fit into something pre-preggo right??!! Also, just the weeks and guides are keeping me motivated. I am enjoying seeing myself get stronger. I mentally feel better in my own skin that I have in years.

So I guess, the pros are for sure outweighing the cons. BBG is turning out to be ok. A lot of work and commitment, but I can feel my MILF status rising.

There has been a lot of birthday talk in my house the past month. 2 kids birthdays, my mother-in-law’s and myself. It got me thinking a lot about the actual birth, since that is what we are truly celebrating. The day a women pushed a child through the birth canal and those little baby eyes met the world.

I never knew much about the actual birth experience until I became pregnant. I did a shit load of research, which all pregnant women do….but nothing prepares you for the actual moment.

So again, I was prepared for all this “birth” stuff: water breaking, contractions, the ring of fire, pooping on the table (which I still don’t know if that happened) all of these birth stories. But it is what happens after that is all so fucking intense.

You just worked your ass off to get this thing out of you and suddenly it is here. Laying on your chest. Everyone is staring at you and this baby. You are so vulnerable and open (in every imaginable area) to mid wives and doctors and nurses all while you are meeting your baby for the first time. They are still poking and prodding and pulling things out of you (well the placenta….yuck) and you are just holding this new human. This new human that is yours. A human you created and then protected in your body for 9 months. And now it is here and exposed to this amazingly awesome and tremendously terrible world.

Then the instructions start. How to breastfeed, which seems so much easier when you are just reading about it. All the tests and pricks to this new little being. Then the bath, for them and you! I was lucky with all three. I felt fine within 15 minutes of birth and could walk myself to the shower, the nurses helped clean me, but I was able to rinse myself asap. But after the rinse, the putting a huge airplane like ice pack and a pair of mesh underwear on, you are set up in a room with your partner (hopefully) and your new babe.

That baby, all wrapped up and swaddled like a Moe’s burrito. Just starting at you, depending on you for every aspect of its life. It is this child’s birth day. Just like that, the pregnancy is over and the rest of its life is staring at you.

You birthed a baby.

You are one of the very lucky women who was able to give s successful birth. Whatever happens to you for the rest of your life, you and this baby have this beautifully special day in common. You both worked really hard to make today happen. So you both should celebrate this day for the rest of your lives.

I may be a grinch about my birthday, but I shouldn’t. My mom does not deserve that. She had to have a c-section to get me out!!!! I should celebrate that shit like a mad woman just for her! I love celebrating my children’s birthdays. Maybe because those specific days are the best days of my life.

It is amazing when the most natural thing can give you chills, change your life and rock your world. It is amazing what our bodies can do. It is amazing what their little bodies can do.

Birth, what a fucking crazy adventure. And what a beautiful day to embrace.

Jan

The Shitty Housewife

When I see Kim Ks newest nude selfie, I think of many things that are different between us. Let me start this article with this: I don’t care that she takes nude photos. I don’t care that she uses her body to get ahead. I don’t care about any of this because it isn’t my business and I don’t have any say in her life. There is beauty in the female form and who are we to tell her that she shouldn’t be proud of it. There is no reason to hate her or degrade her because we are just different.

Now, let’s look at the differences between us:

My bathroom does not have the gorgeous beamed 20ft ceiling, the warm lighting, the tv, the bathtub, the large window with custom treatments, the door to I’m sure a closet full of clothes when she has “nothing to wear.”

Instead, my bathroom has a terribly unflattering overhead light, barely enough working outlets to heat my curling iron while I dry my hair after washing it for the first time this week, a bathtub full of baby toys and whatever is growing in the grout, absolutely zero natural light, and just outside my bathroom door is a pile of clothes that I really can’t wear because they are covered in food, drool, spit up, dog hair, you name it.

My bathroom is not the home to a huge beveled mirror with marble tiles and spick and span countertops.

Instead, my bathroom has a medicine cabinet barely big enough to get this photo with me on my tippy toes and not big enough to hold the millions of products I use to try to get the perfect skin and hair, because I don’t have makeup and hair artists to do it for me. Btw, I can give you a list of products not to waste your money on. My floors are 30 year old tiles probably full of asbestos. My countertops are covered in my boyfriend’s beard hair and hair from my bangs that are now too short.

My bathroom is definitely not a home to a perfectly plucked, perfectly shaped, perfectly bronzed, manicured, bosomed and bottomed host.

Instead, my bathroom has me. After a year, the skin on my stomach is still saggy. I have love handles. My breasts are uneven and leak breastmilk. My hair is cut and colored by myself (as good or bad as that may be.) My bracelets aren’t Cartier and my eyes need glasses (until I can ONE DAY get that Lasik.) My hairband is on my wrist because at any second with an infant I have to throw it into a bun to keep from ripping it out. My legs aren’t always perfectly shaved (sorry sweetheart) and all of my fun parts are droopy, used and sad.

But one thing about our photos are the same. The hand massaging her shoulders is one that every mother has done. While in this photo mine is posed,  there are many occasions where it is not. This hand on your own shoulder is comforting, it helps massage out the kink between your shoulder blades from hauling children all day, it is to wipe off the snot your child left after sneezing into your hair, and it’s a pat on our own back that says, ” You can do this.”

As a stay at home mom, I am so grateful that my boyfriend works his tight little ass off at work every day to take care of us. And because I’m grateful, I try to be really good about not getting uptight about the money he spends on his (very expensive) hobby.

I’m sure all of you have had this type of deal in your relationship, whether it’s his project car, or motorcycle, or tools, or football, or video games, or whatever else they can think of that gets them away from reality for a while. You kinda let it slide because you know it makes him happy.

He can spend the money, within reason. He can use the spare bedroom for his shrine. He can get excited and act like a little school girl with minimal mocking from my side.

I’m not jealous that he gets so excited about his new toy that he doesn’t notice me naked, nipples covered in whipped cream, nothing on but 4 inch heels in front of him (okay maybe that one hurt the ego a bit.)

I’m not jealous that he names his new toys and strokes them and talks to them like he should be bending them over with a fist full of their hair. (If he was, we would have a helluva lot more problems.)

I’m not jealous that he spends enough on them them to cover 30 mani-pedis and a full cut and color every 6 weeks.

What I am jealous of, is that he gets that escape, big or small. For me, an escape is a grocery store trip alone. For me, an escape is a quiet car, or a loud one where I can sing loud as fuck because there is no kid that fell asleep the second we reach our destination. For me, an escape is being able to shit without a kid in my lap, in the tub, in the laundry, in the who-the-fuck-knows this time. Wait, girls don’t poop. Scratch that last one.

I am happy he has an escape, a way to relax, get away from the mundane realities of the world. But I sure as shit am jealous of him for it.